


Bindings, Bindings

by Quietlemonhush



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Azkaban, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fix It, Gay Sirius Black, Good Regulus Black, Hurt/Comfort, James Potter & Lily Evans Potter Live, M/M, Marauders, Protective Remus Lupin, Regulus Black Feels, Regulus Black Lives, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Sirius Black & Lily Evans Potter Friendship, Sirius Black Free from Azkaban, Sort Of, Suicidal Ideation, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Veil of Death (Harry Potter), mentions of child abuse, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 19:51:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 47,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20233435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quietlemonhush/pseuds/Quietlemonhush
Summary: Death is stasis, and no one returns from it.But the Potters are not really exceptional at obeying rules.—Months after their death, Lily and James drag themselves through the Veil with a guest. They have some things to do.





	1. A useless man with dead friends and scars for a face

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter features an extremely depressed and somewhat suicidal werewolf, and mentions of child abuse. Be gentle with yourself.

No one came back from death.

Death was soft and clear and simple, and the blue of the sky remained the same, a calming presence, although the sun and moon were gone. In death things came untwisted and then they twined; Marlene and Dorcas, twirled together like a baton, never worrying over their shoulders at what hate might come. Hate never came in death. Things were stasis.

When the Potters arrived, it was Regulus waiting for them. He didn’t like it and neither did they. He didn’t speak, just watched them with hollow eyes. But he did know how to see Sirius, and James watched quiet with him, balled his fists and raged against the silence of the blue sky. James knew Sirius was innocent and James knew Sirius hated to be confined and James knew Sirius was seeing his worst memories play over and over, a lifetime of things James had tried to chase out of his mind. Regulus said nothing and James tried every spell he knew.

It took them a few days to understand how to reach Harry, but Regulus helped, showed them how to dig, although he did not say why and he did not smile when he did it. By then it was enough: Harry sitting ignored in a sopping diaper, Harry hungry and learning not to cry for a bottle because of the angry marks on his arms, Harry transforming from the burbling joy who lived on Lily’s hip and did not understand fear to someone quiet and scared and shut down.

No one ever came back from death. Death was stasis. But Lily was not in stasis. She paced and she pulled at her hair and she watched Petunia slap Harry’s little cheek and watched Harry not bother to cry; he wasn’t even two and he didn’t cry because no one was coming, and Lily felt herself coming apart, and James could offer her no comfort because he knew this was it, it would not improve, Petunia would not come to love their son and Sirius would not escape.

“We gave everything to protect him from Voldemort,” Lily said, desperate. 

“Voldemort isn’t gone,” Regulus said, his first words since they arrived.

No one ever came back from death. But no one had ever been Lily Evans. No one had ever trusted Dumbledore so much and watched her son be set in a cupboard and sit in the darkness. No one had loved so much with so much magic in their veins. No one had felt such rage.

  
  
  


Remus lay still on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his fingers idle on his stomach. The new marks across his face were raw and burning. He wondered if they would get infected and he would die. He didn’t mind. He was looking forward to it.

He heard a scuffle from the front room and closed his eyes. He didn’t want visitors. McGonagall again, most likely. Coming to see how he was. She had been checking in more and more since the appeal failed. The Ministry wasn’t keen to take the word of a werewolf on a convict’s innocence, and  _ the Sirius I know would not hurt innocent people _ was not enough proof. Especially given how Remus couldn’t come out and say  _ I’ve been shagging him blind since my seventh year, he hasn’t got secrets from me _ . Sirius did have secrets, of course. But he couldn’t—he wouldn’t— Remus ground his teeth together. The argument cycled through his brain for months. The way Sirius got dark after Regulus died. The dark magic he hurled at Snape after the funeral. But the way he loved Lily and James and Harry; the way he held Harry like he was made of gold. It didn’t make sense. No one cared. Sirius was in Azkaban and Lily was dead and James had died protecting her and Harry was gone, gone, Dumbledore said hidden for protection but Remus knew that meant he’d never hold his friend’s son again, and he was useless, he was a useless man with dead friends and scars for a face.

The noises in the front room were getting louder.

He wondered if Greyback had come to finish him. He wondered if Dumbledore had come to feed him lies. He wondered if Pomfrey had gotten fed up with his refusal to have medical care. He wondered if it mattered.

“Remus!” A voice called, and Remus sighed.  _ Pretend you are still alive,  _ he told himself.  _ Pretend there is anything left in you _ . He pushed himself up off the bed and walked from the bedroom, feeling the burn of his wounds as the air touched them. 

“Hello,” he said, and then he stopped, and then he choked.

“Food,” James said, haggard on the couch, one arm draped around Lily. Sirius—no. Regulus. He was bent over, dry heaving on the floor. They were all naked. Lily was shivering.

“Food, Moons.” James said again. “And water.”

  
  


He gave them water first, and then sheets to wrap themselves in, all ill fitting but better than nudity. He did not ask questions. He was dreaming, he knew, and he marveled that his face could hurt in his dreams, but he still scavenged through the pantry to find something to feed them. There wasn’t much. He hadn’t been eating. He gave them toast and trembled when Lily’s cool fingers touched his. 

“We need to go,” Regulus said when he finished his toast. Remus had forgotten the sound of his voice, the elegance of it, although it sounded different now. It was not so angry as it had been in Hogwarts.

“The plan.” Lily said.

“First Remus,” Regulus replied automatically, like it was burned into him, like he was dazed by it.

“We didn’t account for new bodies,” James said to Remus, as if he was in on the conversation and not staring at them, waiting to break.

“I’m sorry.” Remus said again. He couldn’t stop saying it. He meant  _ I failed you died I am the last Marauder and I saved none of us. I’m sorry Harry is gone I’m sorry Sirius is good as dead I’m sorry you are all illusions I dreamed because I am so sorry. _

“I thought we would be ghosts,” Lily said, almost to herself. She looked up at Remus and her eyes were too green to believe. “I know,” Lily said, “that it must be confusing to see us again. I know we’re supposed to be gone.”

“You died,” Remus said, his voice hitching. “I was the only one of us at your funeral.”

“I know,” she continued, soft. “I know Sirius is in Azkaban. I know my son—“ she stopped suddenly. She hadn’t been able to cry in months. There was no crying in death. But here her throat seized and she sobbed, almost by surprise. “I know what Petunia is doing to my son. I know this is confusing. But listen to me. What I need to know is, do you have a car?”

  
  


Remus found himself at the neighbor’s, dear old Miss Brunsworth, 80 and sweet as the tea she made, asking if he could borrow her van to pop off to Bristol.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You look ill,” Miss Brunsworth said, lifting her keys off a white crocheted doiley.

“Oh just fine,” Remus lied, feeling short of breath. “Errands to run and the train schedule is a nuisance so I… I thought I’d…”  _ drive my dead best mates around. _

Driving the car two doors down to his own cottage, Remus decided he was going mad. If anyone looked in on him they’d see a man with a mauled face driving no one about, and when he got to the Dursley’s it would all fall apart, and the police would be called, and he’d go to jail. And that would be fine. The Ministry would come get him from muggle jail, and maybe kill him, and it would all be fine.

But then Lily stepped out of his front door with a sheet wrapped around her chest and he felt the same warmth he always felt in her presence, the kindness and the bravery and the fearlessness in her eyes. James was noble and brave and headstrong about it, but Lily was brave like a Slytherin; she would get her way no matter what it took. She would never stop. Remus missed being near her, missed talking to someone who always leaned in to understand what he was saying. And he felt it again, and it felt real, so although he knew it could not be real, he sat in the drivers seat as Regulus, James, and Lily climbed in to his neighbor’s van. 

  
  


“I forgot how it was when you talked,” James said slowly. “How you could hear your voice inside and outside your body.”

“I forgot about the colors behind your eyes,” Lily said, her eyes closed and head leaned back against the headrest in the passenger’s seat. “They sparkle.”

“I forgot breathing,” Regulus said, quiet and low so that even Remus had to strain to hear him. “How your whole body shifts with it.”

Even Remus had to admit that, as far as fantasies went, Regulus’ appearance was an oddity. They had never got on. For a long time Remus privately thought Regulus hated him the least of the Marauders; he hated Sirius because it was easier, he hated James because Sirius called him brother, and he hated Peter for sucking up to the two of them. For many years he seemed to hate Remus only by proxy, and not with the personal vengeance that earned James several hexes in the hallways. But then came sixth year, and the Blacks found out Sirius was queer, and in love, and it didn’t take too long for Regulus to connect the dots. After that he seemed almost wrathful, waiting for Remus to go on his Prefect rounds to curse him into oblivion, like Sirius being disowned and the new scars on his body were Remus’ personal doing.

But here was Regulus, the Death Eater, the boy whose death had left Sirius crumpled on the floor of their flat for weeks, drinking too much and not eating enough. He spoke almost in tandem with James and Lily, like they had become a set of three. 

“The colors are brighter,” James said.

“Everything is so loud,” Lily murmured.

“There’s wind again,” Regulus said.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said again.

James sighed from the back seat, rubbing at his face. “Moony, it isn’t like all of that. You were only doing your best.”

“We’ve always known you loved us,” Lily said. Her shoulders were bare and the freckles there hadn’t changed since sixth year.

“You died,” Remus said, and found his eyes were filling with tears. “I was the only one of us at your funeral.”

“We did die,” James agreed. “But that’s all over now.”

“I don’t understand,” Remus said.

“You should probably explain about the Veil,” Regulus said.

  
  
  


No one could pass back through the Veil, of course. It was a one way ticket. Death being final, and all.

But James itched when he saw it, and it tugged at him. It felt like a drafty window. 

It took them all a while to figure out, but Lily was full of rage and Regulus was finally willing to help someone and James—James had left something of himself on the other side of the Veil. The Map, where his handwriting uncurled like a spider.

  
  
  


Remus found that he was shaking, because it seemed less like he was mad, and the prospect of that made him dizzy. He decided not to think about it. He decided to live with the warmth for as long as he had it. 

They stopped on Privet Drive.

“Should we call the police?” Remus asked, but Lily and James were already out of the car.

“This is the plan,” Regulus said. He watched the two of them, wrapped in light blue sheets that Lily had bought him no more than a year ago, walk towards the door.

“What is?”

“RemusHarryPeterSirius.” Regulus said. “We’re here for Harry.”

  
  


Lily felt like her skin was made of electricity. It was all new again, and she thought this was why babies slept so much, to cope with all the new sensations, but she didn’t have time for sleep. Her pulse was pounding Harry’s name, and she saw in her minds eye the sliver of light diminishing on his face as Petunia closed the cupboard door, and she reached out to James to steady herself, to not rip a hole in the earth with her rage.

James looked back at her, and although there would be so much joy later, now there was only the desperation in both of them. Harry in trouble. Harry hurt. Harry, who they had given everything to protect, bruised and crying and hungry. Harry was the most important little thing on the planet, the pulse between them, the life they had made, and they had been gone from him too long.

James pounded on the front door. Lily counted her breaths. The sheet was tucked under her armpits, and wouldn’t stay put, but she would’ve streaked through Diagon Alley if it meant gathering her son in her arms. For a moment she thought of Lady Godiva. Petunia opened the door, and then her mouth fell open, and then she tried to slam it, but James was quick, forced his shoulder in and pushed until Petunia stumbled back, letting out little screams like a teapot on boil.

Lily tried to say  _ where is he _ and it came out “God, Petunia,” ragged and aching.

“You’re dead!” Petunia said, a wooden spoon in one hand and a bowl full of bread dough tucked under her arm, her eyes frantic. 

“Go, Lily.” James said. Lily looked at her sister for the last time and then went past her. She ignored the sound of her nephew playing in the front room, laughing as he pushed over a tower of blocks. She crouched at the cupboard under the stairs, and she opened the door.

Petunia was screaming for Vernon and James was shouting something, but Lily was looking at her son. His diaper was full and his cheek was fresh blue, less full than it had been before. He was almost two. He was sitting in the dim of the cupboard, gnawing on a rag. His teeth were coming in. 

“Hello, Harry,” Lily said gently.

“Hi,” Harry said. He looked past Lily, towards the shouting, and he frowned. “Bad?” He asked.

“Oh no, darling,” Lily said. “You are a very good boy.”

He smiled a little at this and resumed chewing the gummy rag. Lily ached, ached that she had no clothes to wrap her son in, ached that his arms should’ve been plump and were instead thin, ached at the angry marks on him. “I’m going to pick you up, alright Harry?” She asked.

“Okay,” Harry said. She lifted him up off the cot and held him against her chest. His legs dangled. Children must be taught to hitch themselves against their mothers, and in their months away he had forgotten. She shifted, sliding a hand under him, showing him how to be held.

“Do you know who I am?” She asked, and Harry shook his head. His eyes were so green. She wanted to kiss him healthy again. “I’m your mummy. I know you haven’t seen me in a while, but I—“ her voice broke, and she smiled at him, but her face was wet. “I’m back now, Harry. I won’t ever leave again.”

“Okay,” Harry said, looking past her again to where Vernon’s voice was raging. His shoulders hunched. “Mad,” he said, and then began to squirm. “Back in?” He said, pointing at the cupboard.

Lily shook her head vehemently. “No, Harry. Never back in. You’re coming with me.”

But when she stepped towards the door he squirmed faster, his eyes widening. “Back in,” he insisted, and Lily hated Vernon and Petunia, hated them for making her son afraid. He had never been afraid when he was with Lily. He had climbed fearlessly over Padfoot and on the backs of chairs, and jammed his hands into pots and jars and the earth. Once he had emptied an entire bottle of baby powder, and when Lily found the mess he had clapped and squealed for ages, until she laughed with him, and James found the two of them white with powder. He had never flinched from her voice, but now he quavered in her arms, and he was too small to know such fear. “Back in, back in!” Harry insisted, pushing at Lily as she walked towards the shouting.

“Well you abandoned him here on our doorstep and we gave him—we gave him what we saw fit!” Vernon bellowed. Lily could feel magic sparking off of James, and if he had a wand she knew the house would be a crater. She wouldn’t look at her sister, and locked eyes with James, holding a writhing Harry against her chest.

“I’ve got him,” she told James.

“He hasn’t even got any clothes?” He asked, outrage and fury in his voice.

“He just messes them!” Petunia cried. 

“He will take nothing from this house,” Lily said, to James instead of Petunia. “Let’s go.”

“You can’t just—“ Petunia began, but Lily stopped, facing forward, her shoulders rigid and straight.

“Petunia,” she said, so quiet that both the Dursley’s went silent to hear her, and Harry ceased squirming. “When your son is grown, if he is any kind of human, he will hate you for what you’ve done, and you will be alone in the misery you’ve chosen. You will die like that and you will deserve it.” She tightened her grip on Harry, who was crying silently now, confused and afraid of the voices, of what he knew came when they yelled. She marched away from number 4 Privet Drive.

Remus watched Lily climb into the car, her son in her arms. He was too thin. Remus knew nothing about children but he knew it.

“No one is mad at you, darling. You’ve been very good,” Lily said, and wiped the back of Harry’s cheeks with her hand. “You’re just the absolute best boy, Harry. And no one is ever going to hurt you again, not ever. You’re safe now, alright?”

“Do you want me to kill them?” Regulus asked.

“Yes,” James said, slamming the car door behind him. 

“No,” Lily said, wiping Harry’s cheeks with her thumbs, mindful of his dark eye. “No. Get us out of here, Moony.”

  
  
  


James watched Lily holding Harry, and he tried to breathe. Harry had cried until he slumped against Lily, exhausted and maybe grateful to be held again, and now he slept shallowly against her chest. James knew this was coming, knew the rage of seeing his son hurt would undo him, knew he would see Lily change the moment she found him again. He knew this rage would never leave either of them, and they would have to fight to believe in kindness again. He knew it was only going to get worse.

But there were things he hadn’t accounted for, like clothes, or diapers, or how their new stomachs rumbled angrily. He wanted to keep on with the plan, to march straight to Azkaban and bring Sirius home right away. But Harry was soggy and naked, and Lily was starting to shake again.

“We need to get to Gringotts,” James said.

“After we get Sirius,” Regulus said.

“We need clothes, Regulus. And food.” Months ago, Regulus would have sneered at him, or scowled, or argued, but coming back from death together changes people. He frowned instead. 

“We can’t go to Diagon Alley. They’ll recognize us,” Regulus murmured, as if to himself. Then he smiled, just a hint of it, and James thought he looked like Sirius when he did that, but more shy, less brave, less able to be openly happy. “Kreacher,” Regulus said. “Kreacher, come here.”

There was a  _ pop,  _ and then there was an elf in the car.

  
  


They went back to Remus’ cottage. Remus found a shirt to wrap Harry in, and Lily curled around him on Remus’ small bed, and  mother and son slept in mutual exhaustion, having spent too long apart and suffered for the distance. James sat on the edge of the bed, watching Lily sleep, watching Harry suck on his thumb as he dreamed, willing himself stronger to keep them together, to keep them safe. By the time Remus walked back to check on them, to see if they were still real, James was asleep too.

Regulus swore Kreacher to secrecy, and Kreacher cried hysterical until Regulus commanded him quiet. None of them had their Gringotts key anymore, but Kreacher had access to the Black vault, and he was only gone a while before he was back with more money than Remus had seen since he graduated. 

Remus watched Regulus Arcturus Black sit on the tan sofa he used to sit on with Sirius and tried to find room in his head for the events of the day. He had returned the van to Mrs. Brunsworth with his last fifteen pounds for petrol. When he came back, the Potters were asleep, and how long had it been since he used that phrase,  _ the Potters _ ? Regulus was speaking to Kreacher, but his cheeks were high pink. In another life, Remus has learned that Sirius’ cheeks burned like that when he was deeply exhausted. 

“You need to rest,” Remus said without thinking. It was what he would’ve said to Sirius. The realization hurt somewhere in his ribs. 

Regulus looked at him for a moment, his long lashes blinking, before he slumped back against the couch. Remus had never seen him slump. “I’m tired,” Regulus admitted quietly. 

“Halfbreed should not speak to Master,” Kreacher hissed, but Regulus raised one hand to silence him.

“None of that, Kreacher.” Regulus said. “None of that now. We aren’t who we used to be.”

“It’s fine,” Remus said, a practiced thing.

Regulus shook his head, but his eyes were foggy. Remus remembered Sirius looking like that during auror training, so tired he could hardly talk, his cheek pressed against Remus’ shoulder as they took the Underground home. Flooing was faster, but Sirius loved the trains, loved the feeling of movement. He said it felt like flying. Remus shook himself hard to dislodge the memory. Sirius was gone. They were all dead. This was a hallucination. His wounds had probably got septic. These were his final wishes, his desperate desire to have hope that things might change.

“I need to sleep,” Regulus said, and it looked like the words tasted foreign to him. “We need to… but our bodies.” He sighed, rubbing his fingers against his eyes. The Dark Mark was still on his arm. “What must you think of me, Lupin?”

Remus laughed, a little hysterical bubble of noise. “Exactly what you think of me, I suppose.”

Regulus stared at the floor for a long moment, and Remus thought he must’ve fallen asleep. “Sirius loves you,” Regulus said eventually.

The idea stung, burned in Remus’ throat. Sirius was gone. Sirius might’ve murdered James and Lily. Sirius blew up a city block in his rage. Sirius…

But Regulus was swaying on the couch, and he eventually laid down. Kreacher let out a gasp, likely horrified that his master was asleep on such a fraying, muggle piece of furniture. The house elf disappeared with a  _ pop _ , and Remus sunk down to the ground. His face hurt, but it was more than that now. He missed Lily and James all over again, missed the way Lily fought for what was right, missed how James loved him, like nothing Remus could ever do would be enough to diminish that fire. He thought of the last time he had seen them, how James had shook his head and said “You’ll be the one to teach Harry his Runes, Remus; you know I could never be arsed,” and Lily had pinched James’ arse and they had both laughed; in hiding, worried and afraid and the war between them, they had laughed. Remus missed them so much he could die, and he would wake up to an empty house, and he would never have Sirius in his arms again. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes and waited for the dream to end.


	2. Molly Weasley’s Best Casserole Dish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More suicidal ideation and child abuse. Sirius Black had a sad start.

When Remus woke up, there were bags everywhere.

He shook his head to clear it, but the vision remained. He was sitting on a rug. His front room had only dark wood for floor, but the rug was plush and creamy, and his fingers sank into it gratefully. The rug was piled with bags, some glittering, some humming, some squirming with life. He recognized the marks on many but not all. Someone had been shopping.

“Master wishes me to tell you there is food,” Kreacher said sullenly, and Remus jumped. The Black’s house elf was in his living room. He was wearing a very small set of wizards robes. He looked so ridiculous Remus wanted to cry.

Instead he mumbled a thank you and stood. His whole house had changed. The floors were all covered with thick rugs. The walls had been cleaned. It smelled like lemons. And in the kitchen, a regal dining room had somehow appeared with a table stacked with food. His dead friends sat at it with their son and his lover’s brother.

They were wearing robes now, even Harry, who was sitting on James’ knee and carefully accepting pieces of muffin from his hand. He kept waiting for no one to watch before he snuck the food into his mouth. Lily and Regulus were politely pretending not to look so that Harry could eat in peace.

“You woke up,” Lily said, and her face broke open in the same smile she had given Remus since first year. “Come eat. Kreacher is an amazing cook.”

Kreacher looked exceptionally displeased at being complimented. Remus moved forward automatically. “You’re still here,” he said. The food smelled real.

“I think he’s in shock,” James said. “Moony, when’s the last time you ate?”

Remus laughed. James always asked him that. James always fussed him, brought him plates of food before the Full, charmed the elves to make Remus’ favorites so he could choke something down when his appetite left him.

“Sit, Remus,” Lily said kindly, and he did, sinking into a chair and automatically filling his plate. There had not been so much food in his house since they died. He had not deserved it, and Sirius had not been there to buy it.

Harry stared at him. He tried to smile back. “That’s your uncle Moony,” James said, brushing Harry’s hair back from his head. “You remember how to say Moony?” Harry shook his head. 

“That’s alright, little love,” Lily said, smiling at him. “You’ll get it all down soon. You’re doing just fine.”

“I didn’t know,” Remus said. “Dumbledore said he was safe, and I—“

“We don’t blame you,” James said. “Eat something.”

“I should have—“

“ _ Eat _ ,” James ordered, and Remus did, picking up a blueberry scone with shaking hands. “You’ve done your best. Don’t think we didn’t see. All those moons alone...” James drifted off, frowning at the floor like it had offended him.

Lily touched his shoulder, and smiled at him. “It’s all alright, Remus. We’re going to make it alright again.”

Remus nodded, looking down at his plate. “There are rugs in my house,” he said.

“Kreacher brought them,” Regulus said, almost apologetically. His cheeks weren’t so pink now. Every time Remus saw him, he saw Sirius, and it hurt his throat. “He’s trying to help.”

“I don’t mind,” Remus said.

“Kreacher needs time,” James said. Remus almost laughed at how ridiculous it was for James Potter to be defending the Black’s house elf. James hated everything about the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black except their disowned heir.

“I set him free,” Regulus said, his voice soft. He looked too much like Sirius. Not Sirius at his best, not when he was laughing and beautiful and joyous on Remus’ arm, but Sirius when he was sad, when he curled in on himself and didn’t speak. Regulus looked so sad Remus swallowed his laughter. “I think it will take him a while to understand. His whole life has been at Grimmauld Place.”

“You did right,” Lily said, and she offered him the same gentle smile she had given Remus.

Kreacher cleared the breakfast dishes. He looked extraordinarily proud of the robes he wore, although he glanced nervously at Regulus frequently, smoothing his long fingers down the fabric while he moved. Remus remembered Sirius nuzzling his face against Remus’ belly and promising he’d stay with him forever if they never got a house elf. 

“How would I afford a house elf?” Remus had asked, carding his fingers through Sirius’ hair. Their bed was warm and the light was soft, and for a few hours they had read together in peaceful silence. Everyone knew Remus read, but no one would suspect how willing Sirius was to sprawl at his side and stay still, to lose himself in a book. He loved muggle science books. Remus bought them discount at the thrift store and brought them home by the armfull, loved the pleasure of hearing Sirius’ magical posh voice stumbling over physics.

Sirius had looked up at him, smiling the way he did when he forgot the war and remembered Remus loved him. “I don’t know,” he said, his body warm against Remus’ legs. “With your modeling money.”

“Modeling!” Remus had scoffed. “Who am I to model for? Ogre’s United?”

Sirius had scowled, and bit the skin by Remus’ navel sharply. “Don’t talk about yourself like that,” he said reprovingly. “As if I would let the ogres ogle you.”

“Remus,” Lily said for the third time, and this time he looked at her. “Did you hear me?”

Remus shook his head, but she just patted his arm. “I asked you to call for McGonagall. It’s time we got back to work.”  
  


It was hard to conjure a patronus with so few good memories left in his brain, but Remus managed. He thought of his mother. He watched the Patronus leave. He knew Minerva would get his request to bring James and Lily’s wands, and she would do so, and then something dangerous would happen.

Either she would find Remus alone, and take him to St Mungos for treatment. Or…

But he couldn’t let himself hope that yet. He couldn’t bear to think that Lily’s voice was real, that James holding Harry to his chest wasn’t an illusion. It was too much. 

He sat in a daze while they moved around him. They were talking about a plan, about Peter, about Sirius, but Remus was watching the movement of their mouths, wondering how he had imagined it so precisely. His head felt fuzzy. He might, he admitted, be in shock.

There was a knock, and then were was Minerva, and when she saw James and Lily she let out a cry, and Remus knew he wasn’t imagining it all, it was real and his friends had returned to him. He sunk to the floor and cried against his knees until the salt stung the wounds on his face.

  
  


“I can’t explain it fully,” James said, sitting at the dining room table Kreacher had conjured. Harry sat on his lap, watching the proceedings with interest and too much self control for a two year old. 

Remus listened to James speak, but it felt like the world was moving in slow motion. “We needed Regulus’ help,” James said. “He had to be the base. I pulled on the Map, and Lily pushed on the sky, and we came through.”

“What map?” McGonagall asked. She kept wiping at her eyes. Remus tried to remember seeing her cry before. It was the day she came to tell him that James and Lily were gone, that Sirius had been arrested.

It had taken him days to understand that Sirius was gone. He kept sleepwalking, waking up around the house, holding Sirius’ leather coat, his books. He dreamed memories: kissing Sirius for the first time on the Astronomy Tower, holding Sirius while he whispered the truth about the night he was disowned, the lengths his family would go to punish him for being gay, waking up in bed with Sirius’ hair in his face and warmth in his belly. He took dreamless sleep potions until he ran out of money to buy them. He couldn’t bear the pain of waking up, of accepting over and over that Sirius was gone, of fighting with himself—because what if it was true and Sirius did betray them? What kind of man loved a traitor?

“We made a map of Hogwarts,” James said. “And somehow it was enough of an anchor.”

“And you said Lily pushed the sky? How could she possibly—“ McGonagall began, but Regulus interrupted.

“Please. We can spend the rest of our lives explaining it. The plan,” he said desperately. 

“We need your help, Minerva,” Lily said. “We have to go get Peter.”

McGonagall’s face fell, and she smoothed her dark robes against her legs. “My dear, Peter Pettigrew is, I’m sorry to say, dead. After you… well, Mister Black—“

“Don’t,” James spat, in a tone he had never taken with his Head of House. “Don’t repeat that lie. You don’t believe it.”

She looked at him, startled. “Twelve muggles—“

“ _ Peter _ killed twelve muggles using dark magic You-Know-Who taught him, because he’s a lying weasel and ought to have his wand broken alongside his spine,” James said furiously. “Sirius Black is innocent.”

Remus felt a wild rush of relief, followed by a wave of guilt. He was relieved because he loved Sirius, loved him in his bones; because his best efforts to stop loving Sirius had done nothing but destroy his face; because if he was innocent, there was hope that someday Remus would see his stupid beautiful grin again.

He was guilty because Sirius’ innocence didn’t really matter: he would’ve loved him if he was the biggest Death Eater of them all, if he was You-Know-Who himself. He would have fought himself every day until he died, but he would still die hopelessly adoring every inch of Sirius Black.

“But he was your Secret-Keeper,” McGonagall began again.

That was the thing Remus could never puzzle out. James trusted Sirius implicitly. Sirius would die to protect James. Remus could accept that he exploded and killed twelve muggles; his magic was wild, nearly feral when he was scared or stressed. But he couldn’t believe Sirius would betray James. He had spent endless nights walking down this loop in his head. Sirius wouldn’t. But he had. He had tried to imagine some scenario where Sirius betrayed James, but over and over again he came back to Sirius’ dog heart. Sirius was Remus’ person, but he was James’ dog. Padfoot didn’t love anybody the way he loved James. Remus couldn’t fathom what You-Know-Who could offer to overwhelm that. There wasn’t anything. And suddenly it clicked, the truth a fragment of a finger had hidden from him for months: there was nothing that could induce Sirius to betray James. But Peter...

“You switched,” Remus said softly, realization dawning on his face, pink and raw from crying. “You switched to Peter.”

James looked like he could knock Remus in the head and hug him at once. “Yes,” he said. “We did. We thought we were clever. We thought Peter was loyal. Sirius was convinced his family was coming for him, and he thought Peter would be safer.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Remus asked, his voice cracking in a new kind of pain. Had they not trusted him? Had  _ Sirius _ not trusted him? And what were they, if they didn’t have trust? Then, he hadn’t trusted Sirius either, had hidden the details of his assignments. Sirius would ask about the bites on Remus’ neck, his wrists, and Remus would respond with silence, and the silence grew into something deadly between them. How could you love someone so much and not trust them? How could someone hold your heart but not your shame?

“It wasn’t like that, Moony,” James insisted. “You were in a hard spot with the werewolves, even if you wouldn’t say. And he thought his family might come for you, too.”

“They would have, if they knew,” Regulus murmured. “Mother and Bellatrix were always trying to find out who ‘Moony’ was. They thought you, James, but they were never certain.”

“Well there you have it, Sirius was right again and he’ll be smug as hell once we tell him,” James said.

“Tell him? He’s in Azkaban.” McGonagall said. “And if Pettigrew is alive, where is he hiding?”

Remus closed his eyes and tried to imagine Peter alive, Peter a Death Eater. Peter, who had cried for three weeks straight from homesickness his first year. Peter, who had ridden so many days in Remus’ cardigan pocket. 

Remus had loved Peter, had spent a hundred nights under the Invisibility Cloak with him. Peter had been the one to tell him to get over it and snog Sirius before they all died of anticipation. James and Sirius forgot Peter, but Remus never did. Remus always waited for him when he lagged behind, helped him with the coursework the others zipped through. How many nights had Remus and Peter spent studying, falling asleep on the same library tables until James came to fetch them?

He had spent months mourning Peter, and Peter was the one who had destroyed them. Remus opened his eyes as a new and furious rage blossomed in his stomach.

“Bill Weasley’s pocket,” James said. “He’s at the Burrow.”  
  
  


Remus followed James through the Floo with twin rivers of rage and numbness in his veins. Part of him wanted to collapse, wanted to sleep for years. But another part of him was wrapping itself around Sirius’ innocence, no longer a wild hope but an unshakeable truth, and Peter’s betrayal. 

It was part of his pulse now, a repeating beat with every breath: Peter knew Remus loved Sirius so much he would die without him, and Peter took him away.

“Easy, Moons,” James murmured, and Remus realized he was shaking. “We can’t spook him.”

They were in a warm kitchen that Remus vaguely recognized as the Weasley’s. But there were no children here. McGonagall had gone ahead of them and must have sent them off somewhere safe, in case—in case this went sour. She was waiting outside in case Pettigrew made it out. Remus took a calming breath. He saw, again and again, Sirius’ picture on the front page of the newspaper.  _ Black goes black _ , they had said. Sirius was innocent and Peter took him. He killed James and Lily. He destroyed Remus’ life. He knew what it would cost and he did it anyway, to all the people Remus loved best.

“Where is he?” Remus whispered.

“Upstairs,” James said softly. “No talking from here on, alright? You know how his ears are.”

Remus let James lead because he didn’t trust himself not to sprint, not to wring Peter’s neck. He tried to force his breath to even out. James was better at this. Of all the Marauders, he was best at controlling his temper. He barely had one. Remus had seen him properly angry a handful of times. Sirius was worst, but Remus knew he was a close second, and took his fingers off his wand to be safe.

The stairs seemed to wind up forever, but eventually James stopped in front of a door. Over his shoulder, Remus saw a familiar shape stretched out on the windowsill, napping in the afternoon sun.

They stepped into the child’s bedroom. They closed the door. Scabbers turned his head to see if treats were coming.

“Hello Peter,” James said.

The rat screamed.

He made to run, but Remus was fueled by the moon and the ache and Sirius’ face on the papers and the last words they spoke  _ I love you, Moony, be safe _ and he lunged, grabbing the naked tail and yanking before Peter could make it off the sill. There was magic in the air and the rat was disappearing, was becoming a man, a boy, a traitor, and Remus snarled, grabbed his throat to squeeze payment for those empty moons and his empty house and the funerals, funerals—

“Remus! We need him alive! We need him to save Sirius!” James was shouting, pushing at his shoulders, but Remus could hear nothing but  _ IloveyouMoonybesafeIloveyouMoonybesafeIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou _ until there was a flash of light and all the world went black.

  
  
  


“You are a stain on this House and a failure in every way,” his mother hissed. He was six years old. Or maybe sixteen. He had spilled his soup, or maybe she had found Moony’s letter, and she knew he was gay now, and his back was wet with blood. 

No, but his back hurt. Peter had said something strange and there was rubble, it hit his back. It hit him because Peter had betrayed them, because James was dead. James was dead at his feet. His eyes were hollow. He was screaming.

Sirius shivered and ground his finger between his teeth. The pain was sharp and his mouth tasted of blood, but it brought him back. He was in a cell. He was in Azkaban. The dementors were close to him, and so reality shifted and blurred in a mosaic of agony, but he was here. Fuck them. He was here, and they could eat Bellatrix’s sadness if they were peckish.

He could hear Bellatrix down the hall, laughing hysterically. Sometimes there were wet thumps as she beat her skull against the wall. She spoke to Walburga often. Sirius tried not to listen.

He tried to count the stains on the wall. So far he had gotten up to four hundred before losing his place. He would argue with himself about what, precisely, constituted a stain. On his worse days he would argue  _ with  _ the stains. He was trying to resist the urge to do so. The stains always wanted to know about Remus, and it ached to say Remus. It ached in a way he knew would never heal, and he often considered bashing his own skull into the wall to stop the ache.

But Peter. Peter was out there. He had to get Peter.

Sirius heard footsteps coming down the hall and groaned. Questions, maybe. Sometimes they came to gloat. He pressed his face to the floor of the cell.  _ Too hard _ , he thought, a muggy thought in a swirling head, and blood started to pool beneath his nose. It might be broken. He might be broken.

“Black,” a voice said sharply. He knew that voice, knew it from before. Mad Eye Moody. He wanted to laugh.  _ Remember how I was an Auror? _ he nearly said.  _ Remember how you trained me to put people here? _

He didn’t move. He didn’t want to, and moving made his body real, and if his body was real he was real and he didn’t want to be real anymore. 

“Black!” Moody said, and there were other voices too, low and urgent. He almost laughed. That was nice. Let them talk to the stains, if they needed someone to chat with so bad.

“Don’t move, Black,” Moody said, and there was the noise of his cell opening. A flicker of distaste ran through him. He didn’t like the cell opening. He didn’t like them coming in. The stains would disapprove.

There were warm hands on his back, and he sighed. The warmth was delicious. He didn’t deserve it. “He’s half dead, Moody. Put your wand away,” a voice said, and the voice sounded like James, but Sirius knew that trick. The dementors played it. Bastards. 

“Could be a trick. You know better than anyone how deceptive—“

“Fuck off.” Not-James snapped, and pushed on Sirius’ shoulder to roll him over. Sirius let himself be moved. He blinked up at the ceiling. He blinked up at James.

Sirius had dreamed James a hundred times, but this was not a dream. He knew it immediately, because he always recognized James, could pick him blindfolded out of a crowd. They were connected. They were brothers. “James?” He said carefully. His throat rasped. He hadn’t spoken in weeks.

James looked at him for a long moment, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “Sirius,” he exhaled. “What have they done to you?”

“Alright, Potter, you see he’s alive, come on out now,” Moody said from outside the cell.

Sirius watched James move. He moved so fast, had always been quick, quick to learn and quick to act and quick to love. “ _ Colloportus _ ,” James shouted, and the cell door slammed shut.

“What are you doing?” Moody demanded.

“I’m not leaving without him, Alastor.” James lay down next to Sirius, and with a wave of his wand their arms were bound together by golden rope. It was soft, but Sirius knew it wouldn’t break, not for anything, not until James said the counterspell. James’ magic was steady like that. “You talk to whoever you need to talk to. But in thirty minutes, Lily Potter is going on the Wizarding Wireless Network to talk about how her husband is in Azkaban for capturing Peter Pettigrew, Death Eater. After that she’ll explain, in detail, how to cheat death. Good luck keeping a lid on that Veil.”

“Potter!” Moody roared. Sirius was shaking, and he realized with a start he was laughing. He had forgotten what it felt like, real laughter, how it bubbled in his chest. He was crying, too, his face warm. James was back for ten minutes and everything was warm again.

Moody was swearing, shouting at him to get the hell out of the cell or he’d turn the dementors on him. “Unlike every other poor sod in here, I can conjure a patronus. And when your guards go running off this island to feast on the muggles on the coast instead, on your head be it.” James shouted. “You have a half hour, Moody!”

Moody let out a stream of curses, but none of them did any good, and eventually he stormed away. Sirius could feel the dementors draw close, in his absence, aggravated at James’ presence, at the invasion. James sat up and tugged at Sirius, wandlight illuminating his cell. “Come here, Pads. Let me have a look at you. You’re bleeding.”

Sirius sat up, blinking into the light. It felt harsh. He hadn’t seen real light in months. James let out a displeased noise and touched his wand to Sirius’ nose, which straightened with a small  _ crunch _ and stopped bleeding. “We’ll get you home and get you a bath, yeah? And something to eat. You hungry?”

Sirius tried to think about if he was hungry or not. Was the gnawing in his stomach hunger? “The food here isn’t good,” he said, a little breathlessly.

James laughed, pressed his forehead against Sirius’. His eyes were bright hazel. He was alive and real and Sirius felt flattened by that, by James back, James doing what James always did, rescuing him from dark places and healing his wounds.

“Where are your glasses?” Sirius asked.

“You’re the first one to notice,” James snorted. “They didn’t come back with me. Doing all this blind as a bat. Good thing Moony spotted Peter or I’d have stepped on him.”

Sirius gasped like he had been punched. He hadn’t heard those words aloud in so long. “Moony,” he whispered.

James’ face softened, and he grabbed Sirius’ shoulder. “Hey. We’ll be out in a jiff. Promise. You’ll see him.”

“He thinks I…” Sirius closed his eyes. He could feel the dementors coming closer. The screams from the hallway were getting louder.  _ Remus hates me _ , he tried to say.  _ Remus thinks I killed you. Remus is never going to love me again, and I will be alone like Walburga said. _

“Expecto patronum, you cocks!” James shouted. There was a hiss from the cell door that turned into a shriek as a jet of light flew from James’ wand. The deer was tall as Prongs, and it ran a circle around the cell and then stood between Sirius and the shrieking dementors, tossing its antlers wildly.

“Impossible to cast a patronus in here,” Sirius mumbled.

“Yeah,” James said, and grabbed the back of Sirius’ neck, pushing their foreheads together again. “But I am _ really _ happy to see you.”  
  


It took fifteen minutes for Moody to return, and he did so with Millicent Bagnold, Minister for Magic, in tow. “Mister Potter,” she said evenly. Sirius thought she might curse them both. He was reminded sharply of McGonagall catching them stealing four whole apple pies from the kitchens in second year, a memory so happy he had not thought of it since he entered Azkaban. “Not being an inmate of Azkaban, I believe you are trespassing. And threatening Auror Moody does not endear me to you. However, I have just had the strangest visit from Minerva McGonagall with a rat in Molly Weasley’s best casserole dish. It would seem, Mister Black, that you are free to go.”


	3. Berks in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Potters are the only ones qualified to give relationship advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor references to self harm.

Remus awoke to two very green eyes staring into his.

Harry scooted back when he saw Remus’ eyes open, one little hand covering his mouth. Remus groaned with the effort of coming back to his body. “Hello Harry,” he said. His head throbbed. He was in his own bedroom, but someone had opened the windows and let in fresh air. The blankets beneath him had lost their sour smell. The whole room smelled much better, and the thick layer of dust he had been cultivating over his life was gone.

“Is uncle Moony awake?” Lily’s voice called, and Harry nodded. She filled Remus’ vision suddenly, her red hair falling in his face. “Good morning.”

“Peter,” Remus said, suddenly remembering—he had tackled him, and then everything went black, and James was there, oh Merlin  _ James _ —

“Got you with a good stun. Don’t worry; Minerva forced him back into his true, ratty form and jammed him in some crockery. She’s taken him off to meet the Minister. Drink this,” she held out a vial to him, something golden and glowing. 

“If I was only stunned—“

“It’s not for the stun. It’s for your total lack of self care since we died.” Lily looked at him with one arched eyebrow and he drank the contents of the vial almost guiltily. Somehow he had convinced himself that the Potters would’ve agreed with the self hatred, with ignoring Pomfrey’s advice for his wounds and only eating twice a week. Now that he was back in Lily’s presence, he was distinctly aware of how wrong he had been.

She turned her back and he set the empty vial down on the bedside table, where his collection of empty beer bottles and joints had vanished. Harry was sitting quietly on the side of the bed, watching Remus curiously. “Ouch?” He asked, reaching his little fingers for the bandages on Remus’ face.

“Oh, err, yes, ouch,” Remus agreed.

Harry nodded, and raised his fingers to his own black eye. “Ouch.” Then: “Dudee?”

“Dudee?” Remus asked.

“He means Dudley,” Lily said, turning back to them with a tray in her arms. She sat on the side of the bed and rested the tray on Remus’ lap. It had fresh bandages on it, and a variety of potions and balms Remus suspected he would soon be ingesting. “His cousin.”

“Oh. No, not Dudley. Is your ouch from Dudley?”

Harry nodded again. “Him hit me with car.”

“That’s not very nice,” Remus said.

“We don’t hit, do we, Harry?” Lily asked. Harry shook his head and Lily smiled at him. He smiled shyly back, unused to praise, to approval. Lily turned to Remus. “And we don’t let wounds go untreated when we are magical beings who could have healed them ages ago. Do we, Moony?”

Remus opened his mouth to argue but realized all at once that it was pointless. He looked down at his hands while Lily took the bandages from his face. It stung, and he let out a small hiss. “It’ll feel better soon,” she said, dipping a cotton pad in one of the jars on her tray and dabbing it lightly along the edges of his cuts. 

“What you doing?” Harry asked, scooting a little closer. 

“I’m putting some dittany balm on uncle Moony’s face,” Lily said. “He got a bit ouch, so we’re helping him feel better.”

“Oh,” Harry said, scooting right against Remus’ ribs to watch Lily’s hands at work.

“Regulus and Kreacher went to air out Potter Manor. And James is fetching Sirius,” Lily said lightly, and pretended not to notice when Remus’ breath stuttered. “With Peter alive, we’re hopeful we can get him home.”

“They won’t let him go,” Remus said, because the hope was too painful.

“James is rather stubborn, if you don’t remember. And he has some tricks up his sleeve.”

Remus let himself think of Sirius. Sirius hadn’t trusted him to know who the Secret Keeper was. Sirius thought he was a spy. Sirius had sat in Azkaban for months. The thought hurt his stomach. He had believed Sirius betrayed the Potters, or tried to make himself believe it. He had left him. He should have known better. He should have broken him out of Azkaban months ago, or died trying. 

“Stop that,” Lily said, and when he looked at her, she said “Moping. You’re thinking of how it all went wrong with you and Sirius. How you two were berks and tossed a good thing away. Well, you’re right, you did. But it was a hard time, and the two of you don’t take well to trust.”

Remus laughed mirthlessly. “That’s an understatement.”

“Yes, I know, very sad childhoods.” She waved her hand dismissively. Remus didn’t quite think  _ that _ was fair, but then, Lily and James had been under the same sorts of pressure as he and Sirius and had always trusted each other, right until the end…

“Oh Moony,” Lily sighed, and cupped one cheek, mindful of where the skin was raw and jagged. “Don’t you see? The war beat us last time. It got us, in the end. But we have a second chance. And we can be miserable over that initial loss, just let it consume us, or we can try again.”

“I don’t know if there’s enough of me left for that,” Remus said softly.

She kissed the tip of his nose. “Werewolves have an incredible capacity to heal, I hear.”

  
  


Sirius stepped into the rowboat that would take him away from Azkaban, James’ hand fisted in the back of his robes to keep him stable. He was shivering from the sea spray, from the way the dementors hissed at him as he passed, the memory of their icy breath on his face and all around him. He wanted desperately to be warm, for his skin not to burn and his limbs not to shake. 

“Budge over,” James ordered, and he did, making room so that James could sit next to him in the narrow boat. “You’re freezing. I should have brought you clothes,” James said, slipping his own robes off his shoulders and wrapping them around Sirius’. Sirius touched them tentatively; his prison garb was thin and tattered and dirty, and James’ robe was soft, deep red and plush inside. They offered more protection than he had had in months. James cast a warming charm and Sirius let his eyes flutter close; it wasn’t strong enough to resist the freezing temperatures, but it was warm, a slip of warmth to hold on to.

“You’ll get cold,” Sirius mumbled, his long fingers clutching the robes like they were a life raft. James only wore trousers and a T-shirt now, and they were already wet from the sea spray.

“You know me. My ego keeps me warm,” James said, nudging Sirius with his shoulder. “Besides, there’s a safe spot to apparate on the other side, and we’ll be home soon.”

Sirius tried to taste the word  _ home _ but couldn’t quite get his mouth around him. Home meant Remus. He had given up hope of ever seeing Remus again after the third week in Azkaban. At first, he believed that Remus would come for him, like a dog at the pound still believing that its owner has made a mistake and will be back any moment to take them back. But it had sunk in. Remus must’ve believed he was the traitor. Remus must’ve believed he was capable of that. And Remus was a good man, a man who believed in what was right, in being courageous and true, so if Remus believed it, he couldn’t possibly love Sirius. He would never love a traitor.

Which was the thought that the dementors loved best, the one that echoed in his head over and over: Remus didn’t love him. Remus never really had.

Even now the pain of it was dull and aching in his stomach. He leaned into James to survive it, to remind himself that someone did love him. James Potter was the first person who ever loved Sirius unconditionally, who set no parameters on what Sirius need be in order to be valuable. It had been the most shocking feeling of his life, realizing he didn’t have to earn what James offered. James had been the first to wake him up from nightmares, to babble Quidditch facts at him at 3am until the soothing tone of his voice lulled him back to sleep. He had first tasted safety creeping around Hogwarts under the Invisibility Cloak with James, and it had changed him forever.

None of this lessened the ache of knowing Remus didn’t love him.

Because if James was the stability beneath him, Remus was the sky he reached towards, the moon whose light he basked in. Remus, with his small smiles and his honey eyes, the way his voice changed and turned warm when he smiled. Sirius would always be addicted to that intoxicating feeling when Remus picked him out of everyone else. Many people were attracted to Sirius Black. He caught more eyes than he liked, and he never returned them. All of his kissing pre-Remus had been to prove a point, to hide the oddness in him that didn’t care about romance or marriage or sex. None of that seemed to matter until one day in the library as he watched Remus Lupin absently pull a quill into his mouth. Then it sparked on inside of him, and suddenly he wanted to kiss someone. 

The further the boat got from Azkaban, the more memories popped like soda bubbles against his skull. They all hurt. He hunched over, holding his stomach with one hand and pushing the index finger of his free hand between his molars. Before he could grind down and feel the taste of blood to center him, James’ fingers wrapped around his wrist, gently tugging his hand away. 

“You’re going to need these fingers,” James said. “And Moony will be distraught if you arrive bloody.”

Sirius licked his lips, looked out over the sea. “Remus thinks I’m the traitor,” he said eventually, his throat achey with the words.

James sighed next to him. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “idiots” but didn’t release Sirius’ wrist.

  
  


The rowboat rowed itself up to the dock, and neatly tied itself up. James stepped out first, holding Sirius’ bicep as he followed. His muscles were gone. James ground his molars together, vowed silently to burn Azkaban to the ground. He and Sirius would do it together, and they would play Quidditch over the ashes. “We’ll just go down the road to the lighthouse,” he said. He looked at Sirius, who was staring at the world around him with fear and exhaustion and sadness etched on his face. And suddenly there wasn’t Sirius, but Padfoot, who bumped his nose to James’ hand instinctively, pressed his skinny black body against James’ legs.

“Hey boy,” James said softly, dropping to his knees to scratch behind Padfoot’s ears. The damage was even more clear here: Padfoot’s skin hung off his bones, and his fur was matted. “We’ll go home and take a real warm bath, yeah? And eat. I’ll get all your favorite foods. Everything you like. Go all the way to Hogwarts to get that sweet cheese danish you like so much, remember?” Padfoot wuffed, sniffing at James’ hands, his neck, confirming that he was real. James smiled, and tugged at his ears gently. “Come on.”

They walked down the road, Padfoot close to James’ side, and Sirius’ thoughts were pleasantly narrowed. Padfoot couldn’t think with the same depth; he knew how to be sad or happy or angry, but not the odd combinations, not sorrow and joy and hate all mixed up. If Sirius had been in his own mind, he’d of thought of Remus, of how long it had been since he walked with James. But Padfoot only knew the scent of his very favorite person, and followed James willingly, even though his body hurt. Padfoot only knew to be happy they were no longer in the cage.

Padfoot followed James, and stayed close to his side when they apparated. Sirius hated sidealong, but Padfoot didn’t mind the sneeze of magic, because he landed in the same place as James, and James was talking, soothing words about a map and the sky and a brother. He trotted after James’ heels, ignored the sharp pain when he breathed, the way his stomach burned. Sure, James kept glancing down at him with a mixture of sadness and worry, but that was easy to ignore, and he did.

He made it as Padfoot all the way to the front door of the cottage. He sniffed, and it smelled like Remus, and like other things too—too many smells for him to understand, magical and musty and familiar in a part of his brain that screamed  _ danger. _ If Sirius had been more alert, he would’ve backed away, would’ve demanded to know why there were traces of Grimmauld Place there, but Padfoot always trusted James, and followed him over the threshold.

He looked around the small cottage and saw Remus, and before he could think he was transforming back, his bones popping as he stood. Remus was sitting on the sofa, talking to Lily, but he had stopped when the door opened. Remus had bandages over most of his face and was too thin. Remus was there and even after all of it, Sirius felt warm at the sight of him. Remus didn’t love him, it didn’t matter. Remus didn’t love him but he loved Remus, and he couldn’t stop, not if his life depended on it.

“We’re back,” James said, closing the door behind them. 

Sirius looked at Remus and then looked away, drawing in a sharp, pained breath. He didn’t have the resources to do this anymore. He had never been stellar at hiding his emotions from Remus, but now he had so little to hide behind. He was all raw and exposed: how desperately he loved Remus, how hopeful he had been that Remus would come, how that hope had died but the love hadn’t, and how pathetic that was, how pathetic he was, to love someone who thought he was exactly what his family said he was. He should have been angry, and wasn’t. He closed his eyes, because that was better than seeing Remus see all of it, see it and pity him for his weakness.

Someone made a soft noise that sounded like his name. He opened his eyes again and there was Remus in front of him, his mouth open and his fingers lifted to Sirius’ face. He looked like he was fighting himself. He looked like he was seeing a ghost.

“Hello Remus,” he said quietly, fingers spasming with how desperately he wanted to touch him, to know he was there. 

Neither of them saw James roll his eyes and jerk his wand, but both of them felt it when Remus fell into Sirius. Sirius instinctively moved to catch him, and then they were touching and then Remus was surging forward to kiss him, one hand fisted in Sirius’ hair. Sirius wanted to warn Remus that he was filthy from months of Azkaban and Remus wanted to warn Sirius that he was marred by his own hands but neither of them had the strength to stop kissing each other. It had been too long, too long, and Sirius sighed against Remus’ mouth, and Remus pushed his palm flat against Sirius’ chest to feel his heartbeat.

It took Sirius several tries to understand that Remus was mumbling “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over, kissing Sirius’ mouth, his jaw. 

“Don’t, I—“ Sirius tried.

“I didn’t believe it,” Remus breathed. “But sometimes I did.”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“I didn’t tell you either.”

“I thought—you were always gone, and if they pitted me against you I would’ve broken. I would’ve picked you. I would always pick you. And I couldn’t.”

Remus kissed him again, a soft thing, his lashes brushing Sirius’ cheek. Sirius closed his eyes. He was shaking, but he didn’t mind. He could’ve been on fire and he wouldn’t have minded, couldn’t mind anything when Remus was kissing him. “It doesn’t matter. Just stay,” Remus murmured. “Just stay with me.”

Sirius laughed or sobbed or something in between. “Where else am I going to go?”

Remus’ fingers tightened on him and he shook his head. He pulled back far enough to look Sirius over, and Sirius wanted to look away, because he knew he didn’t look good, but he was distracted by the bandages on Remus’ face. He raised his fingers to touch them. Remus closed his eyes involuntarily. “The full, after,” he said by way of explanation.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispered. “Merlin, Remus, I’m sorry.”

“They’re hideous.”

“ _ No,”  _ Sirius said sharply. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You didn’t have a choice.”

“Neither did you.”

Sirius would’ve gone on forever like that, feeling Remus in his arms again, breathing in that soft scent of books and wolf and life, learning his new scars and new hurts and promising there’d never be any more, but Kreacher chose that moment to appear in the front room and fix Sirius with a rather nasty look.

By the time Sirius’ mouth fell open, Regulus had tumbled out of the fireplace. Sirius saw his dead brother, and he made a noise in the back of his throat. James darted to him, catching Sirius just as his knees gave way. Sirius hung against James, feeling his stomach threaten to return its minimal contents, and through the blur of Remus and James hauling him up and the cloud of Remus’ worried voice, for the first time in several years, he locked eyes with his little brother.


	4. A Chance to be Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus and Sirius reunite. Remus and Sirius have talks. James does some low key fretting. Lily and Regulus are friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful feedback. I started writing this because I always felt like it should be written, and the fact that other people enjoy it makes me very happy. Thanks for forgiving me for flipping canon the bird and wandering off to create my own universe. It’s a lot of fun and I’m glad you all are tagging along.

The first time Sirius ever saw Regulus, he clapped. He was nearly two. He was delighted to see another small face in Grimmauld Place.

The last time Sirius saw Regulus, he barely ducked in time to miss the killing curse Regulus threw his way. He had been trying to convince his little brother to  _ listen _ , but Regulus practically frothed at the mouth when he saw his brother. Sirius had shouted “ _ Fine _ , be a little bitch about it then!” and apparated away and kicked four holes in the walls of the flat he shared with Remus. Three weeks later Regulus was dead.

He hadn’t been able to breathe after the funeral. He didn’t go, of course, wasn’t invited. Walburga didn’t announce how her youngest had died, just that he had, that the magical bonds she had cast around him when he was an infant in her arms had let her know that the heir was gone. Sirius lay on the floor with a hole in his chest and Remus tried to talk to him but he couldn’t speak, could do nothing but hurt.

Regulus was the first person Sirius ever loved.

In Remus’ small cottage, Regulus’ eyes were wide with shock. He was so young. He opened his mouth and then looked somewhere over Sirius’ shoulder, as if looking for help. Regulus never asked for help. Sirius had been trying to help him since he was born, but everything,  _ everything _ , Regulus accomplished, he accomplished alone.

“Surprise,” James said, steering Sirius towards the couch. Sirius let himself be parted from Remus, and he wanted to protest, but his brain had been replaced with a low buzz. He had no wand to draw, but James and Lily both seemed at ease, like there wasn’t a Death Eater in their midst. He wanted to punch Regulus in his stupid mouth and hug him so hard neither of them could breathe, something he hadn’t been able to accomplish since Regulus’ third year at Hogwarts. Regulus had moved to stand against the wall with his usual quiet, hands clasped behind his back. He looked like their father. He was alive.

“He helped us, Sirius,” Lily said, coming closer. Sirius bit back a Padfoot-esque whine in the back of his throat, because he hadn’t even said hello to Lily yet, and everything was happening very fast, and once he had loved fast but now it was all very much. She was holding Harry against her hip, and Sirius hadn’t had time to think of Harry yet, and why did he have a black eye? 

_ Focus _ , he told himself, and looked again at Regulus. But no words came: everything he had to say to Regulus had been swallowed by grief.

“Well isnt it obvious? I missed you,” Regulus said lightly. “So I returned.”

“You  _ missed  _ me?” Sirius asked, his voice cracking. “You tried to  _ kill  _ me.”

“That’s practically courting in our family,” Regulus said.

It took Sirius a long beat to realize his brother was making some kind of joke. He laughed hoarsely, disbelievingly. Regulus’ mouth quirked up in the suggestion of a smile.

“Regulus showed us how to find Harry, how to find you,” Lily said.

“He was the base,” James said, an echo of what he had told Padfoot earlier. “Without him we would’ve slipped into the dark.”

“You helped my friends?” Sirius asked. “You hate my friends.”

Regulus shrugged, and glanced down at his shoes. “Love is very clear in death,” he said, in a strange voice Sirius recognized as the truth, as Regulus dropping his act. “Either you love someone or you don’t.”

“And you love someone.” Sirius said, but it was more of a question. He had never known Regulus to have a significant other, or even a real friend. There were girls he danced with to please their mother, and people he spent time with to make connections and earn advantages. But Sirius had never seen him love, had never seen him do much but survive.

Regulus looked up at him, unguarded for just a heartbeat. “Very much.” And then the mask was back, and he straightened up, his mouth going flat. 

“Sirius, I know this is so much,” Lily said. Sirius wanted to transform into Padfoot and lick her face. “But you’ll feel so much better when you’ve had a moment to rest, and some food.”

Sirius looked down at himself. He was still wearing his prison garb, James’ robe tucked around his shoulders. “A bath would be nice,” he admitted. 

“Moony will take you,” James said, and Sirius missed the near-panicked look on Remus’ face as he stood. “We’ll have fresh clothes for when you get out. And more to talk about.”

  
  
  


Remus led Sirius back to the bathroom with his heart in his throat. It was a small bathroom with a smaller tub, but Kreacher’s magic extended here, and the tub had been enlarged, deep enough to sink in to. Remus was sure there was an incantation that would fill it instantly, but he let it fill the muggle way to give himself time to think. 

“You moved here,” Sirius said, breaking Remus’ concentration. “After.”

Remus winced. “Couldn’t afford the rent on our flat. Plus the Daily Prophet kept stopping by.”

Sirius nodded but didn’t respond. Remus stuck his hand in the water. “Too hot,” he murmured, and moved to adjust it, but Sirius stopped him, placed long fingers on his wrist.

“I’ve been cold a long while. The heat would be welcome.”

Remus had always been the cold one. His body temperature fluctuated with the moon. When it was full and bright he couldn’t get cool enough, and his skin would burn. Sirius would kick off the covers during the night and stay warm just pressed against his side. When it waned he shivered through classes, wore thick jumpers and drank tea endlessly just to have something warm in his hands. It always seemed that he was colder longer than he was warmer. Sirius had kept him warm, bought him thick sweaters and cast endless warming charms on his socks, his chairs. There had been no one to warm him up after Lily and James died. He understood what it meant to be cold.

“Suppose there’s no central heating in Azkaban,” he said, and wanted to kick himself for saying it. 

But Sirius snorted and didn’t take offense. “Not unless you count the Dementors offers to cuddle, no.” He moved to pull the prison robe over his head.

Remus knew he should look away, knew that a kiss didn’t mean he had the right to Sirius’ whole body. He glanced at his feet, tried to hush what sounded like a whine in the back of his head, a voice chanting  _ mine _ . He could see, from the corner of his eye, one of Sirius’ long legs as it was lifted over the edge of the tub. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, Sirius was entirely under the water, openly watching him. “Gone squeamish about nudity?” He asked, one eyebrow arched, and Remus wanted to shout because Sirius was thin and bruised from Azkaban, and he hadn’t had a happy thought in nearly a year, and he was still beautiful.

“Just… privacy,” Remus said, and reached for one of the many bottles Kreacher had left on the rim of the tub. One of them, he hoped, would be shampoo.

“That’s right, that’s what you’ve always said when I took off my kit: give him some privacy.” Sirius looked up at the ceiling and Remus watched his neck, the soft spot at the juncture of his shoulder where he had left hundreds of love marks.

Remus found a bottle marked  _ For Outstanding Cleanliness _ and dumped it in the water. Sirius hissed and jerked, and Remus looked up in surprise. “Is it painful?”

“It’s that old shite Kreacher makes. Cleans your skin near raw.” Sirius lifted one arm from the water, which was no longer tinged with dirt but was instead almost pink like it had been scoured. “I bet Regulus had him whip up some. He always used it. Uses it? I don’t know the grammar when your brother comes back from the dead.”

“I thought I was hallucinating it,” Remus said, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “And I was only really concerned because Regulus was there, and how had I cracked enough to add him to the picture?”

Sirius looked down at the water, which was turning grey from dirt. “When James came… I had dreamed that before. But it was real this time.”

Remus wanted to ask Sirius what else he had dreamed, but the answer seemed too painful to speak or to hear. They had never communicated well with words; both of them lapsed into silence too often, swallowed what they should say. They did better with touch, with looks. They had stopped touching, before, hadn’t seen each other enough to be certain of each other. It had destroyed them.

He remembered what Lily said and summoned all his bravery, letting his hand settle against Sirius’ wrist where it broke the surface of the water. But the touch wasn’t enough this time: it wasn’t enough to just imply it anymore. He had a second chance. He had to take it. “I’m still not sure all of this is real. But even if it’s not, if my brain has invented all of this just to give me some way to love you without hating myself for it, I’m glad. I’m glad to be here with you.”

Sirius’ stared at him in open shock, his mouth open. Remus wanted to kiss him. Sirius leaned forward in the bath, his fingers coming up to press soft against Remus’ jaw. “You still love me?” Sirius asked, wonderingly.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Remus said.

“You thought I was—“

“And I loved you.”

Sirius held his breath. The joy was sharp and hurt his chest. It was impossible to be so happy, so complete. He had never had this; even in his best years at Hogwarts there was his family to worry about, and then after he was disowned, the war. He had never sat in a house with everyone he loved and knew they were safe. He had never dared believe it would be this good, that James and Lily and Harry would live and Remus would love him and Regulus, even Regulus would come home.

“Don’t pass out,” Remus said, and when Sirius opened his eyes Remus looked uneasy, embarrassed. He dropped his gaze and began rifling through bottles again. “It’s alright, though,” he said, the pain in his voice cutting through Sirius’ peace. “It’s been… it’s been a long while. And you haven’t got to… well, I never expected…”

“Remus, what are you getting at?” 

Remus looked at him miserably, hands clenched on his knees. “You don’t have to love me back, of course.”

Sirius had always thought Remus was sharp, but occasionally given to complete and utter idiocy. He launched himself forward, sending water sloshing out of the tub and soaking Remus and the floor in the process. He clenched his fingers in the front of Remus’ shirt and kissed him, swallowing the surprised noise Remus made. Slowly Remus’ hands came up to his hair, his shoulder. “You’re the dumbest man I ever met,” Sirius muttered against his mouth. “And that includes James.”

“I thought—you didn’t  _ say _ anything—“

“I was taking a minute to be happy, you fucking sod.”

“Oh,” Remus said, and then he laughed sheepishly, kissing Sirius again. “Oh. I suppose I am a sod.”

“I love you. I love you more than—“ Sirius choked, because the answer was  _ everything _ and  _ myself _ and  _ magic _ and  _ the moon and stars and sun _ . “I love you. I will always love you.”

Remus flushed a shade of pink that Sirius felt had been drained from his life over the last year and was returned, beautifically, all at once. “Well that’s a relief,” he said breathlessly. 

Sirius laughed at him, a bark of a laugh, a laugh older than Azkaban. He sat back in the tub and pulled his knees up. “Help me wash my hair, you git.”

  
  
  


Lily listened to Sirius’ laughter drifting from the bathroom and smiled down at Harry. “Your uncles are sorting themselves out, little love. And that is just the best news. Do you know why?”

“Why?” Harry asked. She had learned over the last day that Harry responded well to speech. She guessed because he could gauge her mood more reliably when he heard her talk. She thought of Petunia’s moody silences and kept up a near constant dialogue with her son, talking to him about whatever ridiculous topic she could find, just so his little shoulders didn’t bunch up in fear.

“Uncles Padfoot and Moony are the most ridiculous men to walk the face of the earth,” Lily said. “They’re terribly dramatic. You won’t be taking any relationship advice from them, hear?” 

Harry smiled at her shyly, his little hands curled around the stuffed kneazle Kreacher had brought back from Diagon Alley. He sat obediently on the sofa, or anywhere Lily set him down. He could tentatively walk, but he seemed not to move unless commanded. He ate when no one was looking, and he hadn’t understood that the kneazle was for him until James put it into his hands and folded his fingers around it.

Lily knew it would take time. The early years are important for development, and Harry had spent a good chunk of his stuffed in a closet. She thought again of killing Petunia. It wasn’t kindness that stopped her; murdering her sister would land her in prison, magical or muggle, and she had promised not to leave her son. 

She could hear James in the bedroom, bundling up Remus’ few belongings. They hadn’t told Remus the next part of the plan. He had seemed so confused since they returned, so easily shaken, and Lily was more concerned that he get medical care than he know the details. The dear idiot. 

“Kreacher has gone back to prepare the rooms,” Regulus said, returning from the garden. He shuffled uncomfortably in a gesture Lily had come to recognize meant he wanted to make conversation but didn’t know how.

“Thank you for sending him. He’s been indispensable.” Lily didn’t much care for house elves, felt the practice to be a bit immoral, but she had to admit that Kreacher’s shopping—motivated by his apparently undying love for Regulus—had gotten them all clothed.

Regulus looked pleased. “He’s taking to freedom very well.”

“The elves at the Manor positively rioted when James tried to set them free. Wouldn’t touch anything for a week in case there was a bit of cloth hidden in it.” 

“I suspect I caught him off guard. And the little robes were too tempting to refuse.” Regulus’ voice was soft and smooth and posh, and he looked the same pureblood boy who had called Lily a mudblood on numerous occasions, but as he spoke he crouched by Harry on the couch and gently stroked his index finger over the head of the stuffed kneazle. “Is this your little pet?” 

Harry clutched the kneazle to his chest. “Mine,” he said carefully, like he wasn’t sure if Regulus was going take it.

“Would she like to see a magic trick?” Regulus asked. Harry eyed him for a moment, but eventually he nodded.

Regulus snapped his fingers and a shower of lights and sparks erupted from his palm. Harry gasped in delight. Regulus wiggled his fingers and the sparks coalesced into one wiggling thing which, as Harry watched, shaped itself into a smaller golden kneazle. He held his hand out to Harry, who carefully reached out and took the golden thing from Regulus’ palm.

“A kneazle for your kneazle. It can be her kitten,” Regulus said. 

Harry beamed at the small cat, bumping it against his stuffed one. “Kitties,” he said happily, pressing their noses together.

“That’s a nice bit of wandless magic,” Lily said, and Regulus flushed like he had just remembered she was there.

“Ah, Sirius taught me,” he said, rising to his feet, his cheeks pink. “When we were young. I had a pet kneazle for a while.”

“I didn’t know you liked animals,” Lily said.

Regulus looked away from her with a look she had first learned on Sirius. It meant something to the effect of  _ I am a Black and therefore can’t tell you that I’m desperately unhappy. _

“Well, Father didn’t approve,” he said finally. 

Lily had encountered Orion Black a handful of times in life, and once in death. As a girl she had seen him on Platform 9 ¾, an imposing presence who seemed to go out of his way to let everyone around him know that he was superior to them. She had heard about him, first from James and then, as they became friends, from Sirius himself. All the stories were bad. And all of them were confirmed by meeting him in death.

It wasn’t like meeting a human. He was more a black cloud than a soul, more anger than human. Maybe because it was clear that in death he was no greater than any other sod, magical or muggle, and was in fact much worse. Maybe it was because all the dead know that a reckoning is coming, an accounting for actions, and it did not look good for Orion. Maybe he had always been that way inside, wretched and wasting. But when Lily saw him, she saw hope drained away, saw an empty life. Mostly, she saw Regulus cower.

“You could get one now,” Lily said. She combed her fingers through Harry’s hair. “The Manor is big enough.”

“Get one what?” James asked, coming out of Remus’ room with a suitcase under one arm.

“A kneazle,” Lily said. “Regulus used to have one.”

James’ face darkened. “Sirius told me about that,” he said. He clapped Regulus on the shoulder with his free hand. “Get a whole group of them, if you like. You’re free now, mate.”

Regulus looked hopeful and alarmed at the same time. Lily was certain he didn’t know what to do with freedom. Sirius always demanded freedom, shed school uniforms, defied rules, broke himself letting Orion and Walburga know he couldn’t be controlled. But it seemed the more restriction placed on Regulus, the more he accepted. And now, with no one left to demand his obedience…

“Maybe start with one,” Lily said helpfully. “If you like.” She gathered Harry up in her arms, bouncing him a little. “Little love, are you ready to go home?”

“Technically it’s your grandparent’s home,” James said, leaning in to brush Harry’s hair back and kiss his forehead. 

“You didn’t stay there before?” Regulus asked. He watched Lily hold Harry with confusion, although he tried to hide it. Lily wondered if Walburga ever held either of her sons.

“It’s ridiculously large,” Lily said. “James grew up in a palace. And it made him a bit of an arrogant git. We wanted something different for Harry. And we had to go into hiding, of course.”

Regulus laughed, a real laugh, not the jeer they had all heard at Hogwarts. “Is that what happened to Sirius and I? Grimmauld Place was more like a villain’s palace, but there were suits of armor.”

“I suspect it was the house elf heads on the walls,” James said. 

They lapsed into silence, and silence between the three of them should have felt uncomfortable, felt awkward. But something had changed, coming back; somewhere halfway through the Veil they had melded, just a little bit, enough that Lily knew James was anxious to leave and Regulus was anxious about leaving, and that both of them could likely feel her wondering whether Harry would adjust to two new houses so quickly. It wasn’t like they were the same people, but their edges had bled over on each other. The silence felt like breathing. It felt calm. They moved around the cottage in separate tasks, Lily changing Harry’s diaper, James fussing in the kitchen, Regulus fidgeting with an extra toy Kreacher had brought for Harry, but it felt like they were all doing it as one.

It was broken when Sirius and Remus returned from the bathroom. Remus was soaked, but he was beaming, smiling down at his feet like he couldn’t take how happy he was. Sirius was still gaunt and tired, but his skin was less grey and his eyes were brighter, and he kept his fingers wound through Remus’.

“Feeling better?” James asked, holding out a plate of toast and eggs. Lily knew he had made them instead of asking Kreacher to do it because he knew precisely how Sirius liked his eggs and needed them to be just right, needed to feel like he was making things right. Lily knew it would be a long time before James stopped being afraid of losing Sirius again.

“Much,” Sirius said, accepting the plate and looking around the room in wonder that it was all real, that he had gone and come back and they were still waiting for him. “It’s been a while since I had a hot bath.”

“And it used to be so hard to get Padfoot to accept bath time,” Lily mused. She set Harry down on his feet, holding his hands so that he took hesitant steps. He was unsure on his feet. No one had been helping him to walk. She reminded herself why she couldn’t murder Petunia.

Sirius saw Harry and his face lit up the way it always had. He set the eggs down and crouched down in front of his godson. “Hey there Prongslet,” he said. “Do you remember me?”

“Pa’foot?” Harry asked, releasing Lily’s hand to steady himself against Sirius’ knee. Sirius’ face broke open in sheer delight.

“You remember!” Sirius cried, and scooped Harry up, tossing him in the air and catching him before James or Lily could gasp  _ careful! _ “How’s that, Moony? My godson remembers me!”

Remus smiled at him. Even Regulus found himself smiling down at his hands. Lily reached for James’ hand and squeezed it hard. This is what they had fought for. There was more to be done, and the next part of the plan nagged at Lily, to make more than just a happy moment but a happy future. But this moment was the one she had thought of when her soul was nearly torn in two as she pushed against the sky. This is what she had demanded from death. To return home to all her best loves and know that they were okay again. To know that they had a chance to be happy.


	5. Etiquette Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus struggles. Sirius tries to be a big brother again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of child abuse, physical abuse, and some borderline suicidal ideation in this one.

Regulus tried to remember the appropriate etiquette for sitting in a pureblood family’s parlor while your disgraced brother’s resurrected best friends and werewolf lover talked about sleeping arrangements. He was certain it hadn’t been covered by any tutor or lesson he was given. Recent events had put him in more and more situations that the etiquette lessons had never covered. Like: watching from the afterlife as your brother falls apart at the news of your death; meeting the surrogate brother he replaced you with in death and knowing you were bound to him and his wife forever; returning from death naked in a werewolf’s run down cottage, and so on.

Whenever he was overwhelmed, Regulus fell back on the most basic thing he knew: silence. It was an irony that a woman so loud as Walburga had spent time telling him to be silent, but the lesson had served him well. He made it through Hogwarts in silence, which people construed as confidence. He evaded the majority of his mother’s cruelties with silence. He had earned Voldemort’s trust with silence. Well, silence and Bellatrix’s hand on his shoulder. He tried not to think about Bellatrix, about Voldemort, about what that hand on his shoulder had cost him, about the other things that hand had done. What he had done.

He clenched his hands on the sofa, feeling the stiff fabric under his fingers. His senses were still sensitive, and everything felt amplified, so the sofa fabric was a universe of sensation. His heart thudded distractingly in his chest. He watched James’ fingers smooth along the inside of Lily’s wrist, an almost unconscious motion, like rubbing a worry stone. They had barely stopped touching since they came back. The moment they appeared in Lupin’s front room, flung through the Veil by some kind of magic Regulus had never felt before, Lily and James had reached for each other.

They sat next to each other now in the parlor of Potter Manor, a house large enough and magic enough to rival Grimmauld Place, even if the magic felt different. Grimmauld Place was proud and dark and ornate; Potter Manor was proud and easy and glad. There were portraits of some ancestors on the wall, but they mostly looked sleepy. Above Lily’s head, a girl in a portrait was dancing merrily around a lake with a niffler in her arms. The walls were soft whites and creams, and the sofas were dotted with plump, comfortable cushions. The furniture in Grimmauld Place was just another punishment; in Potter Manor, it seemed, one was expected to be comfortable. Even after years closed up with only a few house elves to run it, the whole place smelled like cinnamon. It exuded warmth. Given half a chance, Walburga would burn it to the ground.

James and Lily’s knees were brushing, even as Lily leaned towards Lupin and smiled broadly at him. She was saying something that made her look young and happy and free. She hadn’t looked like that in death. She had looked like a pillar of iron, rage crackling off of her. She had beaten against death like rain against a roof. Regulus had been afraid of her, was still afraid of her. Her anger was different from Walburga’s—less likely to break a bone, to throw a curse—but no less potent, not when she looked in on Harry, when she saw him crying. In those moments he had hidden. In those moments he had known that he never left fear behind, that even dying hadn’t saved him from it.

She didn’t look angry now. Harry was balanced on her knees, starting to drift toward sleep. Regulus felt a little light headed when he saw the ease with which Lily and James handled their son, the reassurance in their voices. It felt something like sickness and anger and maybe sadness, which was his least favorite feeling. He tried not to think about it.

He felt himself trying not to think about many things. About how Walburga was still alive inside Grimmauld Place. About how Voldemort wasn’t really gone, and so many of his followers—people who knew Regulus, who would murder him for his betrayal—were free. About what it might look like to construct a life on the other side of the war. He had fought for so long to come back to life, and now that he was here, breathing, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be. Which was, he realized, a feeling that had followed him for most of his life. He had been idly waiting for death since the day Sirius left for Hogwarts.

Sirius came sauntering in from the hallway, walking with a sort of forced confidence that Regulus knew meant he was hurting somehow. He had walked like that the summer his ribs were broken, weeks of holding himself too straight, smirking like Orion flinging him headlong down the stairs hadn’t hurt at all. He had walked like that right up to the Hogwarts Express, like his side wasn’t mottled purple, like he didn’t catch his breath in short, sharp gasps. Regulus had watched him all summer, had tried practicing in his room to see if he could pull that kind of swagger off, but it looked forced on him. And he rarely had such injuries to practice with. Sirius took the brunt of those. He didn’t know where Sirius had come up with that kind of strength, to transform pain into energy. Regulus wondered if his friends could see through it. 

Lupin probably could. It seemed like he and Sirius had been tied together somehow by long but invisible ropes, so when one moved, the other felt the shift. He moved incrementally towards Sirius, a tensing of his shoulders, a subtle lift of his arm, and Sirius responded, sliding down next to him on the sofa, his shoulder pressed against Lupin’s side. Lupin’s thumb settled at the back of Sirius’ neck, rubbing circles there. Regulus wondered when Lupin had learned to touch him with such familiarity. He wondered when Sirius had learned to be touched.

“Alright mate?” James asked in a tone that implied he saw straight through the act. 

Sirius looked up at James, his mouth open as if to speak, but instead they shared a look that seemed to pass for communication. “It’s—yeah, Jamie,” he said eventually, clearing his throat. “Just getting reacquainted with the old place.”

“It’s a lot,” Lily said quickly, before James could speak. “I know it’s a lot. And we’ll all feel better after we sleep.”

Sirius bit down on his lower lip. He didn’t want to sleep, Regulus knew. His brother had never been good at sleeping. He got nightmares. He slept walked. Regulus had found him countless times wandering the halls of Grimmauld Place in a daze in the small hours of the night. He cried in his sleep, too. And Azkaban was only hours behind him. Regulus had seen him in Azkaban, had watched as memory after memory crashed over him, drowning him in all the things he had fought so hard to escape. His brother would not sleep well for a long time.

“James and I will take the gold room,” Lily said decisively, as if by planning enough, she could stitch them all back together. “Harry’s going into James’ old room, eventually. And Regulus, we thought you might like the blue room. It’s the only sensible one, really.” She smiled, and Regulus could feel what she was offering: kindness, ease, invitation to be a part of them, whatever they were. 

He should nod once, curtly. He was a Black, a wizard of an ancient family, and it was only sensible that he would get the best room. They should be grateful for his presence. These were Walburga’s lessons, and they sounded stupid now. Instead, he tried to smile. “Thank you,” he said. He wondered if his voice sounded natural. He wondered if he had a natural voice.

Lupin’s thumb pressed softly at the back of Sirius’ neck. “I was thinking we could take the east room,” he said quietly. “If you wanted.”

“Yes,” Sirius said quickly, as if Lupin would change his mind. “Yes. We should.” 

  
  
  


Regulus sat cross legged in the middle of a very soft bed. Walburga would have slapped him for sitting this way, undignified and childish, but it had been his quiet rebellion for many years and it felt nice to slip back into it now. Potter Manor was quiet around him, everyone tucked into their rooms. He could vaguely feel Lily’s contentment and James’ concern, but he tried to push the connection closed, or at least paused. He really, really didn’t want to find out how it would feel to know the Potters were having sex. He had come to accept many new things since his death, but that was one too far; he still had a gag reflex.

He considered calling for Kreacher, just to hear someone else’s breathing, but he thought better of it. Kreacher had returned to Walburga, after Regulus swore him to secrecy with more than a little magic. Kreacher wanted to return to his mistress. The house elf was free now, but he adored Walburga. Maybe out of fear. Decidedly out of fear. Regulus knew the feeling.

Instead he let the night wash over him, the hours slip by. Sleep seemed dangerous. He practiced breathing. He practiced being alone. He tried to imagine what his life could be like now that he was free of his birth right, and when he was met by a yawning emptiness that sounded like Walburga’s shrieks and Orion’s belt, he practiced having a panic attack. He pressed his face into a pillow and heaved shuddering breaths, his heart slamming against his rib cage. He wasn’t good at living, he thought. He had never been any good at any of this.

The room was too small and his heart was too loud and he ran from both, stumbling down the great staircase that, in another life, he would have evaluated for its wealth, its significance. Potter Manor was a maze, and he was trapped, stuck in a body with a beating heart and he didn’t know what to do now, how to live, how to be alive without Walburga pulling the strings that moved his life, and it was a mistake, a mistake, a—

Strong hands grabbed him, jerking him against a wall. Sirius. Sirius was holding him by the upper arms, and they were in the dark of some room on the lower level of Potter Manor, and Regulus was covered in sweat, breathing so hard he might faint.

“Hey,” Sirius said. For years they had only spoken in shouts and curses and insults, but his voice was soft now, like they were boys again, like Regulus was crying in the night and Sirius was coming in to tell him stories until he could sleep. “You’re alright.”

“I can’t,” Regulus blurted. “I can’t be alive.”

Sirius laughed darkly, not loosening his grip. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

“I can’t do this,” Regulus said frantically, his breath stuttering. “I can’t. I’m not right for this. I’m not right.”

Sirius looked at him for a long moment. He still looked sick from Azkaban, thin, exhausted. “You’re doing it right now,” he said eventually. “You’re living right now.”

“But I don’t know how,” Regulus said, his voice cracking. Walburga would have cursed him for this, for the weakness. It was beneath him. He should have been stronger.

“Come on,” Sirius said, and tugged, and Regulus wanted to resist him but the truth was he missed Sirius so much that he couldn’t help but follow, and anyway he didn’t know the way back to his room. Sirius led him through a dark hallway to a warm kitchen. There was a fire going in the fireplace, and a tray full of sandwiches by it. Sirius pushed Regulus down into a wooden chair, which shuffled itself nearer to the fire until he could feel the warmth on his skin. His brother crouched closer, holding his hands up as if to warm them.

“So you think you’re no good at living,” Sirius turned to look at Regulus, the fire crackling behind him. The tray of sandwiches rose up on its own accord and hovered in front of Regulus until he took one. 

Regulus opened his mouth to speak but found no words. He was bad at being alive. He wasn’t a real human, just a shell, just a puppet. How could he say those things? It was weakness to say them. But how else could he go on?

“I don’t think… I mean to say…” Regulus took a shaky breath. He wasn’t doing well. Blacks were meant to use declarative sentences. Blacks didn’t stutter. They did not repeat themselves. He could hear the sharp tone of his mother’s voice, the way it grew dangerous, how it would grow high pitched and hysterical as she reached for her wand—

“She isn’t here,” Sirius said quietly, as if he could read minds. “Just tell me what you’re thinking. It’s alright if you bungle it up along the way.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Regulus whispered. “I don’t know what I’m doing. James and Lily—they needed help, and I saw you, and you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve Azkaban. I wanted to help.” His voice was cracking and his cheeks were wet, and this was failure, he was failing. “I wanted to help you. I wanted to do what you’d do for me. I wanted you to be okay. And now you are, you have them, and Harry, and even Lupin is fine, and now what do I do? Merlin, Sirius, where do I go from here? I helped them and you and now I’m like a dead end. An obsolete tool. I’m useless. I’m—“

“Shut up,” Sirius said fiercely, angry enough that Regulus reflexively closed his mouth. “You’re useless? You think I don’t want you around? You think James and Lily just used you to get here and now they’ll toss you away? I’ll toss you away? That’s what Walburga does. That’s what Bellatrix does. That’s not me.”

“You have your life. I don’t expect—“

“I nearly died when you did!” Sirius shouted. “I wanted to! And if they hadn’t needed me—fuck, Regulus!” He turned away, his shoulders hunched. For all the years between them, he still looked like a little boy sulking that his brother wouldn’t play gobstones with him.

“I saw,” Regulus mumbled. He had. He had seen Sirius sob on the floor, seen Lupin coax food into him, seen him force himself up to go on Order missions and come home and sleep for days at a time. “You were the only one who really missed me, when I was gone.”

“Yeah, well, I love you, alright?” Sirius snapped it like it was an insult.

Regulus scrubbed at his eyes. “I love you too, you know,” he said quietly, a truth he hadn’t admitted in well over a decade.

Sirius did a double take, his anger replaced by shock. His mouth hung open comically. “Say again?” 

“I love you,” Regulus said. “That’s why I came back. That’s why… I’m not very, but—“

“You, Regulus Arcturus Black, love me?”

“This isn’t binding magic, Sirius, you haven’t got to full name me. And yes, I—why do you think I’m  _ here _ ?”

Sirius stared at him in wonder, then laughed, but it wasn’t a cruel laugh, wasn’t the jeering thing he had hurled at Regulus in the old days. It was soft and pleased. “Well that’s new,” he said, and grabbed a sandwich for himself. “What other changes should I know about?”

Regulus fidgeted with his sandwich, tugging at the crusts. “I defied the Dark Lord. At the end. That’s how I… I changed my mind.”

Sirius grinned at him, and for a moment Azkaban was gone off his face. “Course you did. Always knew you had it in you.”

“I came back from death with a muggleborn and your weird school friend,” Regulus said weakly, trying to smile, and Sirius laughed again. 

“I knew about that one. Easily the most impressive thing anyone in our family has ever done. I think you’ve won that dick measuring contest we always had going. So what are you worried for?”

Regulus shook his head. “Because I don’t know what to do next. My whole life I had goals, and a role, and a thing to be. And now I’ve got nothing. What if I ruin it?”

“One, you haven’t got nothing. You’ve got me. And apparently you love me now. So that counts for quite a bit. And James and Lily—believe me, once they’re on your side, that’s a permanent thing. You won’t be able to get rid of them. And second, that’s just old Wally in your head, convincing you that life is empty outside her awful little circle. But it isn’t, Reg. It’s wild and fun and full of good people. The very best.”

Regulus tried to imagine what it would mean to live like that, to be brave like Sirius, to meet people who considered him for who he was and not the family he had been born to. It felt horrifying. But there was part of him, the part that echoed with James and Lily now, that felt like he might be up to the challenge. He had come back to life with two Gryffindors and he found himself suddenly, inextricably, a little bit brave.

“Are you alright?” Regulus asked, and Sirius looked away. “After… I saw you there. I could see it all. I’m sorry, brother.”

Sirius clenched his jaw and let out a sharp breath. “Well I’m not sleeping, that’s for sure.”

“Does Lupin know?”

“He nodded off, but I’m sure he’ll come find me soon. He always does. Has a sixth sense for these things.” Sirius looked down at the floor, swiping his thumb against the tiles there. “You can call him Remus, by the by.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Well I never had the chance to introduce you, what with…” Sirius waved one hand in a sweeping gesture that summed up all that had gone wrong between them. “But he’s good.”

“He’s good to you.” Regulus said, thinking of the days Lupin had spent trying to hold his brother together after he died.

“Yes. It went wrong, at the end… but he’s… well, he’s the whole bit.”

“Mother would be furious on many accounts.”

Sirius stiffened, glaring at the fire as if were their mother. “Well she can fuck off to hell,” he said bitterly.

“Agreed,” Regulus murmured. It would not hit him until later that this was the first moment he had gone against his mother in all his life, but Sirius knew, and his bitterness was replaced by a barking laughter.

“You’ll be alright, Reg,” Sirius said, one hand clapping solidly against Regulus’ knee. “Hating Wally is the first step on the path to freedom.”


	6. A Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say wolfstar?

Remus woke in an empty bed.

It was dark, and his head was full of fog. He tried to remind himself where he was. Minerva had come, and Sirius had been freed, and they had both collapsed in bed too exhausted to do more than undress, and now—

He jerked upright. Where was Sirius? What if the dementors had come? What if the Ministry had taken Sirius again? What if Sirius had disappeared, had slipped out of the world like the too-good dream Remus always knew he was? What if he was alone again, well and truly alone? The emptiness would be too much. He wouldn’t survive it. He wouldn’t—

Footsteps, and then the door slipping open and a figure and the best scent Remus had ever known, the smell of every amortentia potion he had ever brewed. Sirius closed the door softly and turned, a strip of moonlight from the open window illuminating his face. He startled when he realized Remus was sitting up. “You’re up,” he said softly, and Remus could’ve broken just to hear the cadence of his voice. How was it possible to have missed a voice so much?

“I am,” Remus said, trying to stuff his sadness down, the fear. He was stronger than that. He had learned to be stronger than that.

Sirius shrugged out of the soft bath robe he wore, stripping down to boxers. He had always been slim but he was thinner now, all of his Quidditch muscles evaporated. Even still, Remus let out a breath, because Sirius was beautiful, because all of that pale skin held memories of Remus’ fingers and mouth, because the tattoo of the moon on his wrist still promised  _ mine _ . He held himself still as Sirius shimmied under the covers. In the past Sirius would’ve squirmed over until he was halfway on top of Remus, laughingly demanding to be held. Now he stopped several inches away and watched Remus curiously.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Remus asked, laying back down and staring up at the ceiling. It reminded him of those uncertain days back at Hogwarts, when he knew he loved Sirius but didn’t know if Sirius wanted him, when he was eaten alive by the terror of losing his friend, when he couldn’t help staring at Sirius every time he moved.

“No. Regulus was moving around.”

“Is it…” Remus cut off, not sure how to proceed. Regulus had always been dangerous territory, likely to make Sirius withdraw, go silent.

“Weird, yeah.” Sirius said, letting out a long breath. “Not what I expected.”

“Nor I.”

“I always knew he had it in him though. Or I wanted to know. You know.”

“I do.” 

Sirius fell silent, and when Remus glanced over at him Sirius was watching, a look Remus knew as concentration, thoughtfulness. “What?” 

“You’re thin.”

“I’m always thin, Sirius.”

“No.” Sirius’ hand came to rest on Remus’ chest. “You’re not eating.”

Remus swallowed. Sirius’ hand was warm against his bare skin. “I couldn’t do much. Without you.”

Sirius made a noise like he understood, because he always understood. Even when he drove Remus half insane, Sirius was the one who could read him, could pull out all of the frustrated tangles or thought and want and translate it into words. “I’m back now. You’ll eat?”

“A feast, if you like.”

Sirius laughed. “I doubt that. Unless it was a chocolate feast.”

“I haven’t had chocolate since you left,” Remus said softly, without meaning to. “Since that last bit of fudge you brought home. There were twelve pieces when you were arrested. I let them go to rot.”

“Moony,” Sirius murmured, and kissed him, soft. Remus wound his fingers in Sirius’ hair, not hard enough to pull, just to be sure he would stay. When they broke apart Sirius’ breath gusted warm over his face. “I’m so sorry,” Sirius whispered. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

Remus studied his face, so different from the 11 year old who had stood in their dormitory pretending he wasn’t afraid the night he was sorted into Gryffindor. Remus had loved Sirius for so long that he couldn’t imagine not loving him, wouldn’t recognize himself without that love. And yes, Sirius had stopped trusting him, and he had stopped trusting Sirius, and they had been so afraid to lose each other that they went silent instead of speaking. They were wrecks, perennial wrecks, but  _ Godric _ how good it felt to have Sirius warming his bed again.

Remus thought of warmth and thought of Sirius shivering for months in Azkaban, and groped for his wand to summon another blanket. He spread it out with a flick of his wrist, easy magic, and tucked it around Sirius’ shoulders.

Sirius tilted his head at the gesture. “I don’t want you to be cold,” Remus said. “I want to take care of you. Let me take care of you.”

“Alright,” Sirius said hesitantly. He was terrible at accepting care, had once fought with James for three days straight as James tried to ply him with soup and potions, and only broke down and accepted medical care because the fever got the best of him and he collapsed in the Common Room. James and Remus had carried him to the Hospital Wing while he was unconscious. 

“I need you to trust me,” Remus said.

“I do trust you.”

“Trust me all the way.”

“You don’t trust me all the way.”

Remus frowned. It was a fair point. “Well, I will, then. I’ll trust you.”

“Tell me, then.”

“Tell you what?”

Sirius sat up and crossed his arms, looking every bit the prince he had been raised as, petulant and regal. “Tell me whatever you wouldn’t tell me. Before. Tell me where you would go. Tell me what you never told me and why you came home bruised and what you were doing that made you so unhappy.”

Remus considered it. He had fought this moment for most of his adult life, but if it was this, or losing Sirius again…Finally, he pushed himself up against the headboard until he was sitting too. “Fine,” he said, and tried to pretend he wasn’t considering throwing up instead. 

“I was working with werewolves. Lots of different people. Some trying to blend in and live near muggles. Some living off the land. I was trying to earn their loyalty.” He swallowed hard, pushing down the bile, the memory of finding them dead, murdered by people who knew what they were or because their wounds overtook them or because they refused the wrong Death Eater too many times. “There was a pack. A big one. The leader took mostly children. Takes. He wants an army, or a family, or something in between.” 

“Greyback,” Sirius said.

Remus looked at him in alarm. “How do you—“

“I’m an—I  _ was _ an auror. Moody wanted to make a task force, but there wasn’t enough of us to spare.”

Remus closed his eyes. “I’m glad. You wouldn’t have found him. And he would have killed you if you did.”

Sirius made an affronted noise. “Moody could’ve—“

“ _ You _ , Sirius. He would’ve killed you.”

“I’m not weak,” Sirius snapped, which was an understatement. Sirius smelled like magic, and in a duel he was fluid and sharp and striking. He was powerful. Even here, without his wand, weak from imprisonment, Remus knew Sirius could do more magic than many of their peers would at their best.

But Fenrir, Fenrir whose sour breath was always on Remus’ neck, whose laugh followed him to sleep. Fenrir, who knocked Remus to the ground and leered down at him and asked him about his pet dog, why he wasn’t sharing. Fenrir, who swore that if Remus was working for Dumbledore, he’d turn Sirius inside out.

Remus choked on the memories. “I don’t think you’re weak, Padfoot. He threatened… he told me… he knew about you. He knew you were mine. And if I upset him, or stepped out of line, or didn’t—“ _ didn’t kill who he said to kill, didn’t beat who he said to beat, didn’t smile at him like we were a duo and I would one day let him have everything of me, even what I saved for you— _

Sirius touched his hand, light fingers moving against Remus’ palm. “Moony?” Sirius asked, his eyes wide, a name for all the things he couldn’t bring himself to ask. 

Remus looked away. “I couldn’t tell you. You would have gone after him, and he would have killed you, or worse, bit you and kept you. I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t lose you. And then I lost you anyway.”

Sirius’ fingers swept over Remus’ wrist, fluttering touches over the pulse point there. “That’s a lot to carry alone.”

“I didn’t want you to hate me. I still don’t.”

Sirius went still, took a harsh breath. “Hate you?”

“I didn’t tell you and it broke us—“

“The war broke us, not you. No, shut up.” Sirius covered his mouth, stopping the stream of self loathing and accusation from spilling out. “Merlin, Remus. I’ll never hate you. I don’t know how.”

Sirius was grey eyes and pale skin and earnestness in the moonlight. Remus watched him, willed himself to be braver than he was before and believe it, believe that Sirius meant it when he said Remus was everything. Sirius’ hand slipped from his mouth. “We can hate each other if we want to,” Sirius said. “But I think there are better things to do with the rest of our lives.”

“Even though I lied?”

“I lied too. I didn’t tell you about the switch.” Sirius sank down next to him so that they were shoulder to shoulder against the headboard. “Maybe we’ll just do differently this time.”

Remus reached for him, sliding his fingers down Sirius’ arm, over his wrist, tangling their fingers together. Then he frowned, lifting Sirius’ fingers closer to his face. There were bite marks there, jagged wounds on his long, elegant fingers. Something went white in his vision. “What’s happened here?”

Sirius looked and then looked away, sighing. “It’s nothing. Go on about—“

“Sirius,” Remus said, surprising himself at the hint of warning in his tone, and why was he so tense? Why did he want suddenly to tear the bed apart with his teeth? They were wounds, yes, but nothing beyond treatment, nothing that should make him so furious. He tried to take a breath but his chest was tight.

Sirius looked back at him, then lifted his left arm to the patch of moonlight as if he was checking the time. “Two days out.”

Remus followed his gaze to the enchanted moon tattooed on his left wrist, nearly full now. He closed his eyes. He had been so distracted. He kept track of the moon always, even when he was stressed, even at the height of the war, but it wasn’t often your dead best friends appeared in your front room. For the first time in his life, he had forgotten.

And now, seeing Sirius’ fingers hurt—bitten, he could tell now that they weren’t hidden—seeing Sirius  _ his _ and  _ hurt _ and it sounded like a dull growling in his head. He took another deep breath. “Did you do the biting?” Remus asked, and tried to ignore the jolt of pain that seared through his chest at the idea of someone else, their  _ mouth _ . 

“What? Yes. Yes, Moony. It’s just…” Sirius swallowed, and looked away, and Remus could hear the unspoken words.  _ It’s just what I did to survive. _

“No more,” Remus said.

Sirius scowled. “I’m not a child.”

“You said you’d let me care for you.”

“That doesn’t mean—“

“That  _ does _ mean, Sirius! You can’t just hurt yourself and ask me to look away! You’re my—“ he faltered, but it didn’t matter because suddenly Sirius was kissing him, straddling Remus’ lap, one hand against Remus’ jaw. Remus snarled into the kiss and lunged forward, knocking Sirius flat on his back and landing heavy on top of him, moonlight raging in his blood. He twined his fingers through Sirius’ and held them high above their heads, pressed hard against the mattress. Fuck, he  _ wanted _ , and Sirius had been gone gone gone from him and—

Remus dragged himself up, breathing hard. “Shit,” he hissed, wiping one hand across the back of his hand and then pressing both hands over his face. “Shit.”

Remus felt like an idiot, how he always felt when that rabid part of him shone through. Since they were children, Sirius had been the one to bring it out and to soothe it; the day he broke Mulciber’s front tooth with his fist because he cursed Sirius; the countless nights Sirius transformed and threw himself against Remus, all wagging tail and excited barks, and the moon’s effect on him receding like the tide. 

The moons without Sirius had nearly killed him. He was sicker, weaker, and the howling in his head wasn’t just for freedom and moonlight but for the scent of wet dog bursting through the underbrush. This time last month he had been lying on the bathroom floor, dry heaving when he could no longer vomit. Now his head hurt faintly, but his chest was warm, warm, and his stomach was calm. 

Sirius peeled Remus’ hand away from his face, and Remus expected him to be exasperated, but he only looked concerned. It was like Sirius had saved all the patience he would ever have for Remus. He would sulk if asked to stand in a queue, would rather burst through a wall than open a door, but he withstood the sickness and anger and mood swings that the moon brought without fuss. “Hey,” he said softly. “It’s alright.”

“I didn’t mean to—“

“You know I don’t mind—“

“I want our first time again to be special,” Remus blurted, and Sirius looked at him curiously. “I don’t want to just… not like this. I’m not in control and I want—“

“Okay,” Sirius agreed, easy. “That’s okay. Sure.” He grabbed at Remus’ arms and tugged until Remus gave in and lay down beside him, both of them upside down in the bed and neither caring. There was still so much more to talk through, to apologize for and fight about and argue over, but Remus recognized the moment for what it was: a truce. 

“Remember that time you yelled at me for an hour about the importance of breakfast?” Sirius asked into the silence.

“You weren’t eating,” Remus said feebly.

“Yeah, and the world’s biggest hypocrite showed up a day before the Full to give me shit for it.” Sirius’ laughter was a huff, and it unknotted the anxiety in Remus’ stomach. 

“Probably was overreacting, seeing as you ate half the Castle for lunch,” he admitted.

Sirius laughed again, and rolled over on his side to face Remus. “At least you have the lycanthropy excuse. I jinxed Mary half a billion times just for looking for you.”

“Well you were just a brat,” Remus said, and Sirius grinned. “And jealous.”

“Exceedingly,” Sirius laid his head down on Remus’ chest, letting out a sigh. There was a long moment of quiet between them, breath and peace. “I’m tired,” he admitted finally. “I haven’t really slept in nine months.”

“Go to sleep,” Remus said, carding his fingers through Sirius’ hair. “I’ll keep watch. And won’t get wolfy at you.”

Sirius snorted inelegantly. “Won’t be sniffing me in my sleep?”

Remus flushed. He certainly would, but Sirius didn’t need to know that. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I have better things to sniff.”

“Like what?” 

It was an old game, and picking it up felt dangerous. This was the kind of game that could only exist in a softer universe, and Remus had spent years learning the world was not soft. He hadn’t had such luxury in so long. But he dared now, and closed his eyes as if by keeping them closed he could ignore the risk of it all, the risk of enjoying lying in bed with Sirius against his chest. “Like Prongs’ socks,” he said.

Sirius laughed. “That’s a death sentence and you know it.” His laughter cut off suddenly, and Remus tensed. Sirius raised his head to look at him, his brow furrowed. “Can you believe he came back? Is it real, Moony?”

“I think so,” Remus said, unsure. “I think, yes. Or this is a fever dream.”

“I haven’t got a fever. It’s too cold in Azkaban.”

“No,  _ my _ fever dream. You’d be a figment of my imagination, in that case.”

Sirius considered this for a moment, and then shook his head. “If this was your dream, I wouldn’t look like a skeleton. And I’d have smelled better when you saw me.”

“I wasn’t thinking about how you smelled when I saw you.”

“Well, it was bad. A terrible smell. If you were dreaming this up, I’d be fit and trim and dipped in chocolate.”

Remus stared at him. “You’re an idiot,” he said finally.

Sirius nodded once in agreement. “But not a figment of your imagination. So unless I’m dreaming—“

“You aren’t dreaming.”

“How am I to know?”

“You’d have smelled better when you saw me.” Remus watched the smile erupt over Sirius’ face with an exquisite sort of pleasure.

“Can’t argue that. Not to mention there’d be two of you.”

“Two of me?”

Sirius nodded solemnly. “I always thought it’d be nice to clone you so we might have a proper threesome.” He laid his head back down while Remus laughed. 

“Why can’t we clone you?” Remus asked, slipping his fingers into Sirius’ hair and massaging them into his scalp.

Sirius made a pleased noise. “Can’t shag two of me at once,” he murmured.

“Watch me.”

Sirius laughed again, and Remus wanted to keep that noise forever, to have him always like this: boneless and happy and calm. It had been so long. It had been since Hogwarts, really. And even then—even then—

He watched Sirius for a long time, letting dawn lighten the room as Sirius drifted into sleep, his breath growing deeper and calmer against Remus’ ribs. 


	7. A Convention of Marauders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James, Remus and Sirius have breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Child abuse described. Please note this fic has been upgraded to a Mature rating. If that’s not your jam, please don’t read!
> 
> Also, I’ve been asked if this is going to turn into James/Lily/Regulus. At this time, I have no intention of going there. I secretly think Regulus is a bit asexual. Anyway, that’s not the plan, so rest assured: they’re just friends.

Sirius fidgeted in front of the wardrobe until reality started to spin around him. Automatically he lifted his fingers to his mouth, stopping when he remembered Remus’ anxious face the night before. He looked at the nearly full moon on his wrist and sighed. Remus would not miss fresh marks, especially not this time of month, to say nothing of James. So he lowered his hand and willed reality back into its proper place again, trying to stop the swirl.

Kreacher had bought the clothes in the wardrobe. He could tell, because they were the same silky, ridiculously expensive clothes of his upbringing. They were the sort of clothes one wore in Grimmauld Place, walking downstairs to meet Mother, Mother who might snap your wrist in two because you were sorted into Gryffindor and weren’t even sorry for it you disgusting, traitorous little—

“Sirius?” Remus’ voice broke through the haze, his hand coming to rest on Sirius’ hip. Sirius startled, then forced a smile over his shoulder. 

“Just getting dressed. Picking clothes.”

“They’re terrible,” Remus agreed, resting his chin on Sirius’ shoulder. “Kreacher has a singular vision and it is dark silk.”

Sirius felt better when he could feel Remus’ warmth against his back. For a moment he could hardly hear Walburga. He made a noise of agreement. 

Remus released him, but only for a moment, and only to lift the faded jumper he had worn the day before and tap it with his wand. It adjusted itself, shimmering as the cleaning spell worked through it and then shifting, a longer torso, the arms rolling back. Remus held it out. “Wear this.”

Sirius smiled at the jumper, and pulled it over his head. “Smells like you,” he murmured. 

“My apologies.”

“Idiot. You smell nice.”

“Do I?” Remus smiled at him, locating a pair of trousers and casting the same magic, although they did not shrink like the jumper had. Sirius stepped into them and laughed.

“I finally fit your clothes,” he said. “All it took was nine months of starvation.”

“Don’t start,” Remus said with a scowl. “I’m the only one of us with a wand.”

“I could still best you, Lupin.”

Remus quirked one eyebrow. “Could you? Is that a promise?”

Sirius thought he would die before he saw Remus give him that look again, that  _ do you want to make out until James and Peter get back _ look. He tried to remember how to look flirtatious. In Hogwarts when he wanted Remus’ attention he’d do a long, slow stretch, arching his back so that his shirt rode up, and watch Remus’ gaze slip off of his text book and on to his exposed skin. Or he’d light a dung bomb. It really depended on the day. But he couldn’t master the stretch now, couldn’t really ask to be touched when for months he had remembered the worst kinds of touching, his bones snapping, the air leaving his lungs as Bellatrix—

“We don’t have to,” Remus said quickly, touching Sirius’ arm. “I mean, we—you—blast.” He looked away quickly, grimacing. “Breakfast? Would you like breakfast?”

It had been perfect the night before. He had felt brave and annoyed and in love, and Remus had surged up against him, and that was safe and right. But it was morning and the world was shifting around him, untethered. He opened his mouth to try to explain it, but instead he just nodded. “Tea would be nice.”

He followed Remus through the house, his fingertips trailing along the walls. Potter Manor remained as it always had been: home. But his real home, home of the best parts of him. Grimmauld Place was home to fear and anger and the bravado that broken ribs didn’t hurt and no curse could break him. Potter Manor was home to Gobstones with Fleamont and Euphemia’s easy voice calling him awake in the morning and James, of course James, sliding down the banisters and sweet talking the elves and throwing himself at Sirius every time the sadness overtook him. Potter Manor had been his very best refuge, the place he needed when he was broken. It was fitting to be back. He wished Fleamont and Euphemia were there to make it whole.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft cry. They were in the dining room, a long table laid out with so much food and flowers that he almost felt dizzy. The elves must’ve been glad for James’ return. He looked past it all for the source of the cry—Harry, sitting in a high chair, his cup knocked sideways and spilling over the tabletop, his mouth open in shock and fear.

“Hey, mate, it’s no fuss. Your dad should’ve remembered to charm that lid on,” James said, waving his wand to clear the mess and right the cup. “Can you say no fuss?”

Harry looked at James speculatively, as if trying to assess whether or not it was all an act. Finally, he lisped a small “No spust?”

“Quite right. No spust indeed.” He sat down next to Harry, moving to cut up food for him, and noticed Remus and Sirius standing in the doorway. “The canines are up!”

Sirius watched the play on his face, the flicker of anxiety and relief. He had never known James to be anxious. James didn’t understand fear. He barreled headlong into rejection, pain, and failure, and always came out the other side laughing. Sirius had survived summers with his family by faking the kind of confidence that James exuded. 

But it was there now, a seed of it: the knowledge that everything could go to pieces, that they could lose each other. Sirius tried not to think too long on the thought, batted it away as quickly as he could. Instead he moved towards Harry, crouching by his high chair. “Hey little buddy,” he said, and held up his palm flat. “High five?”

Harry looked at him curiously. Sirius reached out gently and took his little fist, touching it against his open hand. When he did, an eruption of gold and red sparks flew up, bubbles and lights and flecks of sparkle landing in Harry’s messy hair. He laughed, a loud, happy giggle. Sirius grinned at him. “There he is.”

“Just you wait, Harry. Once we get uncle Padfoot back his wand, he’ll be doing all kinds of magic. He’s a terrible show off.” James said cheerfully, placing a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Harry, cut into bite size bits.

“Am not,” Sirius said.

“Are too,” Remus agreed. “Come eat.”

Sirius moved to sit by Remus. It was no use arguing. James was always a mother hen. Remus tended to be less fussy, more inclined to space, and less willing to pick a fight about whether Sirius had properly cared for a Quidditch injury or not. Or at least he was more subtle about it. But in the days before the Full, he got restless, watched Sirius more avidly. Sirius had been used to the changes, used to have them memorized, although following them during a war had been near impossible. The war. Muggles dead, and missions, always missions, and James in the ruins of Godrics Hollow with his glasses skewed—

“Padfoot?” James said. Sirius looked up at him, realized both James and Remus were watching him intently. He swallowed.

“Thinking about Quidditch,” he said brightly. James frowned. Remus made a noise next to him. He spoke before the lecture could begin. “By the by, the Full is nearly here. What’s our plan?”

“I have a basement I go to,” Remus began. “Out in the forest near my cottage. I lock up the door and—“

“Yes, that’s what you did  _ before _ ,” Sirius said pointedly. “Only we’re here now.”

“You’re still recovering, Sirius. I won’t have you—“

“You aren’t precisely in charge of what I do—“

“The moon is  _ my  _ responsibility—“

“And you’re mine!”

Harry began to whimper. They both stopped, casting guilty looks over at the boy. James glared at them both. “It’s alright, mate. Your uncles are just being the two lumps of sentient grass they always were.” He rubbed one hand over Harry’s back. “No more yelling, yeah? Or your mum will slice them open. She certainly will.”

“Sorry,” Remus mumbled, looking down at his plate. Sirius glowered at his own. He  _ hated _ this, Remus’ refusal to accept the most basic and fundamental types of help. They had fought about it constantly. Remus wouldn’t take extra presents, or the answers to homework, or one single knut, no matter how much Sirius had to spare. Renting a flat with him had been misery. Convincing him to eat the groceries Sirius bought was even worse. Sirius wanted nothing more than to shower Remus with every good thing, and so far as he could tell, Remus wanted nothing more than to refuse it all and suffer like some stupid monastic hermit.

“We  _ will _ be accompanying you for the Full, Moony,” James continued, and when Remus opened his mouth to argue he held up one hand and said, in a voice that reminded Sirius of James’ days as Quidditch Captain, “No. Stop. We all know what happens when you spend the Full alone. I  _ saw _ . I had to watch. Nine times. It won’t be happening again.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Remus said quietly.

“We had this conversation for three years straight at Hogwarts. Give it a rest.” 

Remus looked down at his plate. Sirius wanted to kick him and kiss him at the same time, which was a familiar feeling. “Where?” He asked James.

“There’s plenty of land here. I’ll go cast redirection spells this afternoon.”

“ _ Please _ ,” Remus said desperately. “Please no. There’s a village. I could hurt someone.”

“You’ve never hurt anyone,” Sirius said sharply.

“I did, Sirius!” Remus snapped, and the words hung between them hard and heavy. Sirius stared at him. James sighed. Remus looked bitterly at his plate. “I couldn’t control myself. You were gone, and I—without—the wolf was  _ angrier _ . I attacked a muggle.”

“You stalked someone through a field,” James corrected. “No one died.”

“They could have.”

“But they didn’t. They didn’t. And you aren’t alone anymore.” James rubbed one hand tiredly over his face and sighed again. “But fine. Where would you like to go? And don’t say a bloody basement.”

Remus fidgeted with the napkin on his lap. “Suppose we could go to the Shack.”

James grimaced but nodded. “Alright. The Shack, then. I’ll tell Albus. I need to talk to him anyway.”

Sirius heard the strain in James’ voice. He said  _ talk to him _ like he used to  _ talk to Snivellus _ . “Surprised he hasn’t turned up already,” Sirius said.

James looked up, put one hand protectively over Harry’s back. “He isn’t allowed here.”

Sirius had seen James angry, properly angry, a handful of times. James wasn’t like him and Remus; he didn’t lose his temper, didn’t sulk around the dorm and kick at things. Sure, he was down after a lost Quidditch game, and sometimes he did get annoyed, but so rarely  _ mad _ . He had been mad when Snivellus called Lily a mudblood. He was furious after the Prank. He was perennially mad at Sirius’ parents. He got mad enough to yell once after a particularly bad full moon when Remus tried to say he should be euthanized.

He was mad now, one hand on Harry as if to shield him from a curse, or someone trying to grab him. 

“Allowed?” Remus asked.

“McGonagall did the Fidelus so we wouldn’t be swarmed. The Ministry, of course, and You-Know-Who’s people, and reporters, and Albus.”

“You didn’t give him permission to come?”

“I don’t want to see him. Lily might blow him in two if she does.” James toyed with his wand. Sirius could feel the pulse of it, the way James was mad enough to blow a hole clear through the table.

“Is there something we need to know about Albus?” Sirius asked, settling his fingers over Remus’ wrist, a quiet warning, although Remus could sense magic just as clearly, especially this close to the Full.

James looked at them both incredulously, then shook his head. “Yeah, Pads. You need to know he never tried to get you a trial. You need to know he let Remus nearly die alone on the fulls. You need to know my  _ son _ was locked in a  _ cupboard _ with a mad man’s soul locked inside of him! And what was Albus going to do about any of it? Use him as bait! Raise him as a sacrificial sheep!” James caught himself as his voice began to raise and Harry began to tense. He wiped one hand across his mouth and looked away. “We gave him everything. We trusted him. And when we couldn’t—when we needed him to look after the people we loved, to look after  _ Harry _ , he left him with Petunia and Vernon. And he never looked back.”

“He said it was for protection,” Remus said cautiously. “He said Lily’s blood would—“

“Fuck that,” James spat. “No. You would’ve protected him better than any blood magic. He could’ve been raised at Hogwarts. You think he wouldn’t be safe there? And who was protecting him from being hungry? Who was protecting him when they left him in the dark for hours and hours while he cried?” 

Sirius looked at Harry, properly looked at him. The boy was thin, and quiet, watching the conversation with too much attention and fear for a child his age. Sirius had been so consumed with the disorientation of being free that he hadn’t really seen his godson, and now that he did, and heard James, his voice edging into tears, he remembered Regulus as a boy, too afraid to even move unless Sirius was with him. He thought of Petunia and Vernon and clenched his fists. “They did what?”

“They put him in a cupboard, Padfoot,” James said. His voice cracked, tears sliding down his cheeks. “They hit him and they didn’t feed him and I saw it, we saw it.”

“And Albus left him there.”

James nodded once. Sirius felt a swell of something. It had been years since magic exploded out of him unintentionally, a bad habit Orion had beaten out of him, but now he had to grind his teeth to keep it down. He let out a harsh breath. “Fucking hell,” he hissed. “Did you kill them?”

James shook his head, wiping at his cheeks. “I needed to get you free.”

“We’ll do it together.”

“No,” Remus said quickly, sharply. “You aren’t a murderer, James. That’s not you.”

“My son—“

“Your son needs you to be you more than he needs revenge.”

James looked down at Harry, and nodded. “Moony’s right. And you can’t go back to Azkaban.”

“Let them fucking try,” Sirius said. “They only got me last time because I was out of sorts.”

“ _ No _ ,” Remus said in a sharper tone, grabbing Sirius’ wrist. “No. You stay.”

“They deserve it!”

“Sirius.”

Sirius recognized the tone and looked away, yanking his wrist from Remus’ grasp and crossing his arms. “They don’t deserve to get away with it,” he said darkly. 

“I didn’t say that. I said no murder.” Remus looked at him like he was extremely tempted to snatch Sirius’ wrist back just to prove he could. “I am all for teaching them a lesson. But our first concern has to be Harry. And what did you mean about a mad man’s soul in him?”

James rested his elbows on the table and rubbed at his face. “What do you know about Horcruxes?”

  
  
  


By the time James had finished telling them about the Horcruxes, Harry had grown restless in his high chair and Sirius had begun to develop a headache. They moved to the parlor and James set Harry at his feet with a stuffed kneazle, which Harry began to quietly talk to in a mostly nonsense language. Sirius and Remus sat across from James, listening as he unwound it all, or what he could.

“We don’t know where they all are,” James finished finally. “But we know about Harry. And Regulus has one at Grimmauld Place.”

“My brother Regulus? How did he get his hands on something like that?” Sirius asked. 

“That’s how he died, Padfoot. Swapping it out for a fake.”

Sirius’ head hurt and now his stomach hurt, imagining Regulus dead, remembering the grief of it, the way he had fallen into a dark place. In Azkaban, he thought over and over of the days he failed Regulus, what he might’ve said right. He wondered how much pain Regulus experienced before he died.

“Where is he, anyway?” Remus asked, looking around. It was well on noon, and Lily and Regulus were nowhere to be seen.

“He’s talking with Lily.”

“All this time?” Sirius asked.

“He takes a long time to open up, of course. And they’re, you know.” James shrugged. “We’re all friends now.”

“Didn’t see that coming,” Remus said. He leaned back on the sofa, hair falling in his eyes. “Suppose I didn’t see any of this coming.” 

There was quiet between them, just the soft noise of Harry whispering secrets to his kneazle. Sirius watched him, taking in the lightning shaped scar on his forehead, the familiar shape of his face. His godson had grown in his absence. He was taller now, and when he spoke he sounded more like a toddler than a baby. When Harry was born, Sirius had vowed to protect him no matter the cost. The promise lived under his skin. 

“He needs a broom,” Sirius said. “And you need glasses. You’re squinting at everything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” James agreed. “I’ll send one of the elves.”

Sirius shook his head. “I’ll go. I need a new wand. I’m going to explode something without one.”

Remus frowned, tensed. “Your name has only barely been cleared.”

“So come with me, then. You can keep me safe.” He flashed his teeth at Remus. It was a bit of a dirty trick; with less than 48 hours to the Full, the wolf in Remus would need to keep Sirius safe like he needed to breathe. But it was also a plea. Sirius needed freedom, even when it was dangerous, even when he’d be better served to stay home. Remus knew it. It was a request to let him be free, to compromise.

Remus eyed him for a breath and then nodded. “Alright. Padfoot and I will go to Diagon Alley and pick up what’s needed.”

James looked back and forth between them, chewing his lip. “You’ll watch his back, Moony?”

“I will,” Remus said. His fingers settled on Sirius’ knee, and he smiled lightly, an olive branch. “Not that Padfoot needs much backup.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Sirius grumped, rising to his feet. “Remus will guard the delicate flower.”

“No one is calling you a delicate flower,” Remus sighed.

“I don’t want to lose you now,” James said in a tone so flat and haunted that Sirius stilled. “I can’t go with you because I can’t leave Harry and I can’t take him in public. Not yet. But I can’t lose you, Padfoot. I can only get you back so many times. It’s still dangerous out there, and all the people we might’ve counted on believe you’re a murderer. They’ll hurt you if they can. And I won’t be there to stop them. Please. I can’t lose you.”

Sirius looked down at his hands. He wanted to argue, but James sounded so sad, so hurt, that he couldn’t bring himself to push back. Instead he took a breath and nodded at James. “Alright, Prongs. Moony will look out for me. I’ll be careful. And no big risks. For once.”

  
  
  


Sirius choked down a wave of nausea as he appeared in a quiet alleyway off of Diagon Alley. He hated sidealong, hated it since the first day Walburga snatched his arm and made him disappear. It wasn’t quite so bad with Remus, because Remus’ magic swirling around him felt right, but it still made him seasick. He wondered how Hagrid was treating his motorbike.

“We’re close to Gringotts, so let’s start there, yes?” Remus said, already moving forward. “Then we can stop at Ollivanders for a wand for you, Quality Quidditch Supplies for Harry, and—where is it James gets his glasses?”

“Ocular Occupations,” Sirius said. “We’re going to Malkins, too.”

“Robes?”

“I looked in your wardrobe this morning. You haven’t bought a single thing in nine months.”

Remus threw a scowl over his shoulder. “I don’t need clothes, Sirius.”

“And you got rid of your books.”

“I sold them. I had to.”

“So we’re buying you new books.”

Remus stopped and spun on his heel, his mouth open to argue, but Sirius was faster, closed the distance between them and crowded Remus back against the wall of the alleyway. “Are we or are we not together?” Sirius asked softly, dangerously. Beyond them, just a few steps past, the noise of Diagon Alley came in loud and unfiltered, but between them the air was quiet and still.

Remus closed his mouth and frowned. “Of course we are.”

“Like Lily and James now, yes? No more half assing and hiding.”

“It’s dangerous,” Remus began. When Sirius went to turn away, he thought better and reached out, grabbing Sirius’ arm. “But yes. Yes, okay. No more hiding. We’re together.”

“Then my money is your money,” Sirius said fiercely. “If I’m yours, then my money is yours.”

Sirius watched the gold swallow the brown in Remus’ eyes, and then he was stumbling backwards, Remus’ mouth on his, hands sliding down his front. He let out a huff as his back was pressed hard against the wall. He fumbled for Remus’ shoulder, his hair, but the world was finally not spinning, reality was perfectly aligned and Remus Lupin was kissing him, one hand sliding under Sirius’ jumper to feel his skin. “You’re mine,” Remus whispered feverishly, kissing a trail down to Sirius’ neck, laying a none too gentle bite against his collar bone.

Sirius let his head thunk back against the wall and his eyes flutter shut. “Yeah,” he said, fingers curling tight in Remus’ hair. “That sounds about right.”


	8. Family Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Remus go on an outing and meet some unexpected relations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy implications of child abuse in this one. Please be kind to yourself.
> 
> Also, introducing the only character I love more than Sirius: Andromeda! Man I am soft for Andromeda.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading and commenting. I read every comment and they all make me smile. I’m trying to get better about responding, but please know if you’re commenting I really appreciate it.

Ollivander was not surprised to see Sirius.

“Ah, Mister Black. I knew we’d be seeing you again,” he said, reaching for a pile of wand boxes the minute Sirius entered the dim shop. They had made it through Gringotts without much more than some uncomfortable stares, although Sirius had a copy of his vault key made for Remus and demanded he take some coins. When Remus hesitated, Sirius scowled and grabbed a whole fistful of galleons, and Remus only succeeded in calming him by suggesting Sirius carry the money for the both of them on this trip and they figure out the rest at home. Goblins didn’t care who was a convict and who was a werewolf; Sirius had his key to his vault, so the rest was beyond their concern. People seeing them on the street did not mind their business quite so well; whispers and stares followed them as they walked.

“Your last, if I recall correctly, was teak. Eleven inches. Core of—“

“Dragon heartstring,” Sirius said with a longing sigh. “It was a good wand.”

“A good wand for a good wizard,” Ollivander said. “Or might I say excellent.”

Remus wanted to tell the man not to flatter Sirius’ ego, but it was true: Sirius  _ was _ excellent. Sirius shrugged noncommittally. “Well now I’m a wandless wizard, seeing as mine was blown to bits.”

Ollivander began rummaging through boxes, holding up wand after wand. Sirius scowled at a eight inch walnut with a phoenix feather core. He swished a rosewood wand and Remus had to duck as flames shot out the end. He wouldn’t touch a ten inch ash wand with a unicorn hair core. Finally, his fingers grazed an eleven inch acacia wand, runes carved down by the handle. 

“What’s in this one?” He asked softly, picking it up from the box and drawing a line in the air. The air shivered where he had disturbed it. Remus could smell magic.

“Dragon heartstring, of course. A powerful wand. It will demand the best from you.”

Sirius laughed. He spun, one fluid motion that reminded Remus he was a trained auror, the boy who had aced each and every one of his classes without trying. He threw one long arm out and pointed the wand at the door, and a jet of light leapt forward, transforming at once into a flock of sparrows that swarmed the shop, filling the small space with the beat of their wings and their song. It was immediate chaos, birds knocking over wands, singing over each other, noise and commotion and song. Ollivander and Remus both ducked, but Sirius stood in the midst of it and laughed delightedly, the rush from their wings ruffling his hair, until Remus jerked his wand and sent the shop door flying open, the birds swarming out into the street.

“I’d say you’ve found the one,” Ollivander said, not seeming to mind the disturbance. He was likely used to it. Remus’ first go at a wand had resulted in a localized rain storm. Inside the shop. “That will do you well. And do send my best to the Potters, Mr. Black.”

“Will do,” Sirius promised. “How’d you find out?”

“Have you turned on the Wireless Wizarding Network this week?” Ollivander asked. “There’s little talk of anything else.”

Sirius was beaming when they left the shop, turning the wand over and over in his fingers. Remus watched him, and despite himself he felt warm all over. He had always loved to see Sirius happy. It had been rare in Hogwarts, and rarer during the war. Sirius could be distracted by pranks, or amused by friends, but not so often  _ happy _ ; there was always the shadow of Walburga and Orion over his shoulders, the things he didn’t speak about but made him scream in his sleep. And then there was Regulus’ death, and so much between them, and fear… Remus thought the last time he had seen Sirius truly happy was when he held Harry for the first time.

“What?” Sirius asked, arching one eyebrow at Remus.

“What?”

“You’re staring.”

Remus shrugged. “You’re very good looking, what can I say?”

Sirius snorted. “Like this?” He gestured down at himself, the weight he had lost. “Pull the other one, Lupin.”

Remus was about to tell Sirius that he was still very good looking, and anyway he smelled so nice that even if he looked like a kelpie Remus would be transfixed, but at that moment there was a shrill voice screaming “What have you done with my  _ son _ ?” and then Walburga Black was parting the crowds, storming towards them.

Remus reached out instinctively for Sirius’ arm. “Don’t get arrested,” he hissed, inching out in front of him.

But Sirius wasn’t angry; he looked utterly lost. His face was blank, and then fear crept in, clear as day before it was snapped up and replaced by a forced disdain. “Wally,” he said evenly as she stopped before them, vibrating with rage.

Even in her old age, Walburga had the echoes of a beauty that must have been magnificent in her youth. She wore robes so black they seemed to swallow the light and her, billowing out around her like a cloud. Her wand was drawn and her eyes were bulging in fury. Around them, the people who had been staring and whispering now stopped and gawked, a small crowd forming behind her.

“Where is he?” She hissed, brandishing her wand as if to strike. Remus swallowed a wave of bile.  _ It’s too close to the moon for this _ , he thought despairingly, trying to hold in a swell of rage that anyone would dare to come so close to them, would come near Sirius, Sirius was  _ his— _

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not sure anyone ever does,” Sirius said, sounding bored. “It might help if you weren’t a fucking human cauterwaul.”

“ _ Regulus _ !” She screamed. “My  _ son Regulus _ ! My heir! Heir to the home of my fathers! I know you’ve stolen him away—kept him from me with your freaks and mud bloods and blood traitors!”

Sirius bristled at the insult. Remus tightened his grip on Sirius’ wand arm and looked around frantically for an escape. He could probably keep Sirius from attacking Walburga. It would be hard, but it was possible. But he couldn’t keep her from attacking Sirius. And if she did, he wasn’t sure he could keep calm this close to the moon. Which meant the only possible solution was escape, as fast as possible. He couldn’t apparate straight back to Potter Manor—they’d have to go to the fields nearby and walk back to the house due to the Fidelus—but he could get them out of here, if he only had a moment to concentrate and be sure Sirius would disapparate with him.

“I don’t control Regulus. If he hasn’t come home to pay you a visit, maybe that’s because he had some time to reflect on the company he keeps, and whether he wants a banshee bitch for a mother.”

The slap echoed across the street. Remus drew in a sharp breath.  _ Calm, calm, calm _ he chanted to himself. “Excuse us, Mrs. Black, we were just going,” he said, and maybe his voice did sound like a snarl. He tightened his grip on Sirius’ arm and reached for his wand.

Before he could disapparate, Walburga had flicked her wand and Sirius crumpled, letting out a cry of pain. Remus’ vision tinged red. It had been too many years of this. He had never seen it first hand before, never watched the pain bloom on Sirius’ face, but fuck was he seeing it now. Years of Sirius joining them on the Hogwarts Express, unable to breathe until James straightened his ribs, of coming back from Christmas smelling like fresh blood on his shirt. He couldn’t hurt an old woman, couldn’t snap her bones, but he could stop her from hurting Sirius ever again.

“Expelliarmus!” Remus shouted, and Walburga’s wand flew upwards. She let out a shriek, clawing up at it, her fingernails like talons in the air, but before it could hit the ground Remus snapped “Confringo!” and watched in satisfaction as the wand exploded.

Walburga looked at him with wide, venomous eyes. They were the same color as Sirius’ eyes, but nothing like his; there was no kindness there, no laugh hidden at the corners. “You dare to touch a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?” She cried, her voice ringing unpleasantly in Remus’ ears.

“I’ve touched your former heir’s member quite a bit, you harpy,” Remus snapped. He crouched, one hand on Sirius’ shoulder. His leg was bent at an unnatural angle. “Padfoot? You alright?”

“I’ll have you thrown into Azkaban along with that putrid, faithless, whore of a child!” Walburga screamed. Remus wondered if she had charmed her voice to echo or if it was a natural gift.

Sirius forced himself to his feet, but the way he clutched Remus’ arm testified that he was still in pain. Remus looped one arm around his waist, a silent offer to take his weight. Walburga looked like she might claw both of their eyes out with her bare hands, bystanders be damned. But then a warm, high voice cut through, calm and pleasant and unbelievably sarcastic. “Aunt Walburga, I can see you’re just as pleased as the rest of us to hear of Sirius’ pardon.”

For a moment Remus thought Bellatrix had escaped Azkaban. The woman was tall and willowy and her long, dark hair hung loose around her. Her face was shaped like a heart, with the classic cheekbones and grey eyes that marked her from the House of Black. But Bellatrix had never sounded so pleasant, and she certainly wouldn’t be walking hand in hand with Ted Tonks. Remus let out a long breath. Andromeda.

Walburga’s face soured even further, if it were possible. “You harlot bitch of a—“

“Ah ah,” Ted said cheerfully, wagging one finger. “That’s inappropriate language.”

Walburga reached for her wand, and seemed to remember all at once that it was gone, that a halfblood has disarmed her, and with a shriek of rage she turned and stormed into the crowd, shoving wizards and witches aside as she went. 

“Good riddance,” Ted said with a shudder as she left. “My ears will be ringing all day. Heard her down at the Leaky Cauldron!”

“Oh little cousin, I’m delighted to see you!” Andromeda cried. “I knew it wasn’t true. You’ve not got a dark bone in your body.” She frowned at Sirius’ pale face, the line of sweat on his forehead. “What did she hit you with?”

“It’s nothing,” Sirius said, forcing a smile. “Andy, it’s good to see you.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Andromeda sighed. “Come on home with us. I’ll fix you up.”

  
  
  


Ted and Andromeda lived in a cottage in Hogsmeade. They had brought a portkey for easy travel, and when the wave of magic passed Remus found himself standing in a warm, inviting front room, family photos plastering the walls and a large cage with a golden snidget flittering around in the corner. Out of the public eye, Sirius finally sagged against him, and made no protest when Remus shifted him onto the sofa. 

“You moved,” Sirius said hoarsely as Andromeda kneeled and pushed up his pant leg, revealing a mottled bruise that shouldn’t have formed so quickly. With his trousers out of the way, it was clear that his leg was broken. Remus clenched his fists. 

“Nymphadora does better when she doesn’t have to hide her powers,” Andromeda said, quickly setting the broken bone with a flick of her wand. Remus watched the proficiency with which she healed, and wondered how many times she had done this. He knew Sirius had often spoke of Andromeda fixing him up, coming back from Christmas break with a limp and shrugging it off when James asked. _Had a run in with Bellabitch, but ‘Meda fixed me up._ _Fell off my broom, but ‘Meda took care of me. Don’t worry about me this Christmas, ‘Meda is coming. _How afraid Sirius had been when Andromeda was disowned. How old had Andromeda been when she learned to set bones? Who had set hers?

“How is she?” Sirius asked. His voice was less strained now, the pain leaking out of him. He rested his head back against the sofa.

“Dora’s amazing,” Ted said proudly. “She’s aces in all her class work. Not at Hogwarts yet, mind, but she’s learning the good old muggle stuff. She’s brilliant, like her mum.”

Andromeda smiled quickly, then rose to her feet. “Ted believes we’ve created the ninth world wonder.”

“Only because we have,” Ted said, sliding one hand around Andromeda’s waist. “She learned to read when she was three. Did her first bit of magic two days old.”

“Wrapped her father around her little finger even earlier than that,” Andromeda said fondly, leaning in to kiss Ted’s cheek.

“Sounds like she well and truly made it out of the House of Black,” Sirius said, running his fingers down his leg and straightening his trousers. 

“She isn’t a Black,” Andromeda said fiercely. The softness leaked out of her voice; she looked dangerous suddenly, like a woman who could survive growing up with Bellatrix. “She’s not one of them. She won’t ever be.”

“She’s a Tonks,” Ted said soothingly. 

Remus wondered what it would be, to escape people like Walburga and Bellatrix, to have a child, to worry that those people would come not only for you but for your baby. He thought of Lily and James, how they clawed back from death to save who they loved. 

“Well I’m glad for her, and for you.” Sirius said. 

“And grateful for your help today,” Remus said. “I thought Walburga might finish us with her bare hands.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time she’s tried,” Sirius muttered.

“Or the first time you evaded her.” Andromeda stepped forward to smooth one hand over Sirius’ hair, then cup his chin and tilt his head up. “I’m very happy you’re free, little cousin. I wanted to send you an owl but no one can find you, which is just as well. Is it true Regulus is with you?”

“He is,” Sirius agreed. “He’s gone and come to his senses.”

“Oh I knew he would. Too bright a boy to get stuck forever. Tell him Ted and I say hello.” 

“Always thought Regulus might make it out,” Ted said. 

Andromeda released Sirius and looked appraisingly at Remus. Remus had the distinct feeling he was being examined and judged on some grounds he wasn’t sure of. Andromeda smiled, and he was relatively certain he had passed. “And good on you for breaking old Wally’s wand, Mr. Lupin. No one has stood up to that old bat for longer than I can remember.”

“Oh call him Remus.” Sirius snorted. “He’s my—“ he stopped, and locked eyes with Remus, an unspoken question in his eyes.

“I’m his partner,” Remus said firmly, taking Sirius’ hand. “Ah, romantically, that is.”

Ted grinned. “ _ Told you _ , Andromeda Tonks! What did I say? Your cousin and that Lupin chap, I said! For years I’ve been saying it!”

Andromeda swatted affectionately at Ted. “Oh shut up,” she said. “You did say it, but that’s no way to respond when someone comes out to you. Haven’t you read those pamphlets? I’m terribly sorry, boys, my husband is uncultured.” She wound her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek to balm over the wound of her insult. “But he did suspect. And we’re both very happy for you.”

“I’m not surprised you knew. I stare at his arse constantly,” Sirius sighed.

Remus blushed to the tips of his ears. “Sirius,” he hissed. 

“And do your friends know?” Andromeda asked. 

“James and Lily do, yeah. Some of our other friends knew, but they’re…” Sirius frowned. “Well, they’re gone, Marlene and Dorcas. Killed. No one else does.”

They went quiet, the weight of death between them. Ted’s cheerful voice broke the silence. “Well, suspect if you go out to Diagon again you’ll get swarmed by reporters or more members of Wally‘s army. Give me a list of your errands and I’ll get them done for you.”

“We were going to Malkins, and Flourish and Blotts, and Quality Quidditch—I’ll write it down,” Sirius said, and then looked over at Remus. “Only you need to be measured, and pick out the books.”

“Sirius, stay here. You never should’ve gone wandering out this soon anyway.” Andromeda said imperiously. Remus waited for Sirius to protest, but he looked almost  _ meek _ , a word Remus had never once thought to use to describe Sirius Black. “Remus, why don’t you accompany Ted? He can make a diversion if any reporters associate you with the Potters, though I suspect you’ll be able to slip under the radar. I’ll keep Sirius company.”

Remus thought the idea of accompanying a man he had met a handful of times and hardly exchanged names with around Diagon Alley sounded excruciating—but Sirius wouldn’t rest until the errands were complete, and James did need glasses. Which is how he found himself following Ted Tonks back into the bustle of Diagon Alley.

Luckily for Remus, Ted seemed content to walk in companionable silence, whistling to himself as Remus hastily picked up the cheapest pairs of trousers he could without Sirius marching him straight back to the store to buy something more expensive. Ted bought a broom for Nymphadora in Quality Quidditch Supplies after extracting a promise of silence from Remus, and waited patiently as Remus found the right glasses for James at Ocular Occupations.

Remus paused in front of Flourish and Blotts, chewing on his lip. Sirius had wanted him to buy back all of his books. But a library was costly, and they were living with the Potters, and it was Sirius’ money, and—

“Who’re we shopping for here?” Ted asked. “Only you look like it’s a final exam.”

“Sirius wanted me to buy books. For me. But...” he drifted off miserably.

“You didn’t come from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Wealth and don’t want a lecture for not coming back with the whole store?” Ted asked with arched eyebrows and a knowing look.

Remus huffed out a laugh. “You too?”

“You should’ve seen the uproar first time I brought ‘Meda to a second hand store. She didn’t know the things existed.” Ted grinned. “Here’s my tip: buy what you like, no guilt, and when he gives you fuss that it’s not enough, tell him it’s what you like. You say, is what I like not enough? That’ll stop him in his tracks.”

“That’s genius.”

“I’ve got some tricks,” Ted said, tapping his temple. “You don’t survive that family for this long without gaining some skills.”

Remus told himself he’d only buy a few books, but faced with the bookstore and the ridiculous amount of galleons in his coin purse, he found himself stacking his arms full. It would be nice to have a copy of  _ Hogwarts: A History _ again. And he had been halfway through  _ Flesh Eating Trees of the World _ when he sold it. And he had been heartbroken when he parted with  _ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _ . Before he knew it, the pile at the counter required both him and Ted to carry out.

“Looks like you didn’t need Sirius’ help after all,” Ted laughed as he hefted his pile of books.

“Sorry,” Remus said, his cheeks burning red. “I haven’t been book shopping in a while.”

When they made it back to the cottage, Andromeda was sat beside Sirius on the couch. Both of them wiped furtively at their eyes as Ted and Remus came in, as if they could hide crying from the men who knew them best. Even with the tears, Remus thought Sirius looked more whole, more settled. He remembered the look Sirius wore after Andromeda sent him letters at school and recognized it now: it was like he had a little slice of family, finally. “All right?” Ted asked, setting down his bundles.

“Quite fine,” Andromeda lied. “Sirius was just filling me in on what I’d missed.”

Ted arched an eyebrow at Remus, but turned and smiled at Andromeda. “Well, we’ve done all our errands. Got some glasses for Mr. Potter, a wee broom for the Boy-Who-Lived, and some clothes to boot.”

“Won’t you stay for dinner?” Andromeda asked, rising to her feet. She moved with the same grace as Sirius. Remus wondered if it was something they were born into, or if there were lessons. “Nymphadora will be back from her Grandmama’s shortly.”

“Druella?” Sirius sputtered.

“My mother,” Ted corrected.

“Druella will see Nymphadora when I am dead and my ghost is rendered impotent,” Andromeda said firmly. “And perhaps not then.”

Sirius laughed and shook his head. “We should probably go home. James is likely fretting himself back to death right now.”

“But we’ll come back,” Remus promised, and pretended not to notice Sirius’ surprised, grateful smile.

“Maybe Regulus could join. If he’s ready.” Andromeda said.

“A family reunion,” Sirius said.

“One that doesn’t make either of us suicidal,” Andromeda said.

Sirius barked out a laugh, linking his fingers through Remus’. “Thanks Andy. Thanks Ted. We’ll be back soon.”

When they apparated to the fields outside Potter Manor, Sirius was still beaming. He looked down at the packages Remus had brought and made a pleased noise. “You got your books?”

“I did. Enough to make even you happy. And some clothes.”

Sirius hummed in response, using his new wand to float the burdens ahead of them so their hands were free. “Good to see Ted and Andy.”

“They’re very nice.”

“You told them we were together.”

“You said you wanted that.”

“I do.”

“Well, I do as well.”

Sirius turned to him with a smile so radiant Remus was sure the sun could never, never compare. “You do?” 

“Have done since sixth year,” Remus said, wrapping one arm around Sirius’ waist. “What, the prettiest, best wizard in all of England to call my own?” He ducked his head and kissed the corner of Sirius’ mouth.

“Don’t call me pretty, twat,” Sirius said, but he laughed when he said it.

“You are very pretty,” Remus hummed. “So pretty I think we’d better get back in to our room and—“

“I hate to break up this snogfest,” Lily said, appearing out of nowhere with such stealth that Remus nearly cursed her before he came back to himself. “But you’d better come back with me. We’ve a bit of a situation.”


	9. Two brothers, some tattoos, a dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus wants Sirius to sit still. Regulus wants to run away. Sirius wants to help. James wants to hold his kid and his friends. Lily wants to get revenge.

Lily pushed open the door to the library of Potter Manor and immediately looked for Harry. He had been out of her sight for less than ten minutes. She had never been an overprotective parent; she wanted Harry to be brave and live life, and if it meant his knees got scratched up, so be it. She thought that feeling might come back someday. But for the moment, she felt a restless anxiety under her skin when she couldn’t see him. 

He was fine, though, standing on his little legs to reach for a trinket on one of the library shelves. When he turned and saw Lily, his mouth made a little O, and he stepped back from the shelf. James was up and out of his chair in an instant, kneeling by Harry. “It’s alright, mate. Go on, grab it.”

Harry looked at James like it was a trap, but after glancing back and forth between him and the trinket, he did, wrapping his chubby fingers around what Lily now could see was an old compass, probably enchanted to show the way to some treasure or another. Harry smiled down at it. Lily felt an angry satisfaction. Good. He should be allowed to grab things from shelves, to be daring. One day she might have to teach him when not to touch, when to be careful and look for danger, but he had too much of that lesson already. For now, she wanted him to learn not to be afraid.

She glanced over her shoulder to where Remus and Sirius had caught up. Sirius looked happier than yesterday, which was as good as anything, although the trip had clearly tired him out. Remus kept one hand on Sirius’ back, and although it looked like support Lily knew it was for both of them. Remus always wanted to be in contact with Sirius. He thought the rest of them didn’t notice these things, but she always had. She noticed how he got tired and snappier and more prone to saying _ fuck _as the full moon neared, and how he ate his meat rarer and rarer. And now, she noticed that although he wasn’t frowning, he was watching Sirius suspiciously, like a man checking for damage. So something had happened, then.

“Your brother is back,” Lily announced, and Regulus looked up from the chair he was sinking in to. When Regulus thought no one was paying attention, his posture was atrocious. She wondered if that was deliberate. She thought it probably was.

He straightened up quickly, his face a carefully composed mask. The mask slipped a moment when Sirius came in. “You’re limping,” Regulus said.

Sirius glanced down at his leg and up at his brother. “I ran into Mother.”

Lily felt James tense and scowl, one hand reaching for Harry. “She attacked you?” James demanded.

“She broke his leg,” Remus said.

“Moony blew up her wand,” Sirius said gleefully.

“The Tonks’ came to the rescue, otherwise she might’ve broken our necks. She doesn’t need a wand to devour souls,” Remus murmured.

“Andromeda’s alive?” Regulus asked, surprised. “So that’s why I could never find her.”

“What in the world could’ve taken out ‘Meda?” Sirius asked, dropping elegantly into the leather chair nearest to Regulus’ and propping his leg up. “A hurricane? Merlin himself?”

“Bellatrix told me she killed her.”

Sirius’ face darkened, and he spun his new wand, a spark of flame at the end. “Bellatrix couldn’t take Andromeda.”

“She could with help.”

“Well she’s in Azkaban, rotting away and beating her brains to pulp against a wall, crying for her father,” Sirius said nastily. Remus frowned and moved behind him, settling one hand against Sirius’ shoulder in a gesture of solidarity or assurance or restraint or something in between.

“I didn’t say I wanted her dead,” Regulus snapped. Sirius glared over at him with fire in his eyes.

Lily sighed. It was a repeat of Hogwarts all over again. The number of House points Gryffindor had lost when Lily found the Black brothers arguing on her evening patrols. Usually just shouting, occasionally dueling, on the very worst nights throwing punches and scrabbling like children. Once she heard Regulus threaten Remus and had to call for help carrying him to the Hospital Wing, more things broken than whole after the burst of Sirius’ fury. Which was not to say Regulus was innocent; Lily knew James had brewed dozens of potions to heal burns and scars and gouges, because Sirius would never go to the Hospital Wing to have healed what his little brother threw at him, no matter how much it hurt.

“Enough,” Lily said firmly. “We have enough to deal with. Regulus, tell him.”

“I’ll deal with it myself,” Regulus muttered, moving to rise from his chair. 

“_ Sirius,” _Remus said insistently.

Sirius grabbed Regulus’ arm, tugging him back down into his seat. “Wait. I want to help.”

“Really? Because you look like you want to hex me.”

“Can’t it be both?”

Regulus seethed, arms crossed over his chest. “_ No_, Sirius, it can _ not be _. Either you want to be my brother-“

“Who said anything about not wanting to be your brother?” Sirius demanded, throwing his arms in the air. “I can think you’re being a sod-“

“I didn’t _ do _ anything!”

“You implied it!”

“All I said-“

Regulus cut off as Remus bent and whispered something furiously to Sirius, whose eyes widened with outrage and then closed in acceptance. He sighed deeply. “Regulus, I am being a prat. Apparently I am always like this when I see Mother. Please forgive me.” He said it woodenly, but sincerely enough that Regulus looked unsettled.

“Well, that’s, that’s fine,” Regulus snapped, the heat going out of him. Lily got the idea there wasn’t a lot of honest communication in the Black family. 

Remus ran soothing fingers over Sirius’ shoulder, and Sirius slumped against the back of his chair. “Please tell me what’s wrong,” he said, and he sounded entirely sincere this time, if resigned.

Regulus fidgeted, glancing sidelong at Remus like he was a lion tamer. “Mother summoned me. Likely after she saw you.”

“I thought she couldn’t come here,” Remus frowned.

“No, she—have you told them?”

Sirius rubbed at the back of his neck. “Not quite. I just dug it out.”

“You what?” Regulus’ eyes widened in alarm. “When?”

“Sixth year.”

“Love,” Remus said impatiently. “Translate.”

Sirius rubbed harder at his neck, grimacing. “It’s a family tradition. To make your heirs more… accessible, I suppose. Tattoos.” He tugged at his jumper to reveal his chest, a scar disappearing underneath the tattoo of a selkie. “I had mine done over after I broke it. Didn’t like the reminder.”

“And the tattoo allows for what?” Lily asked.

Regulus looked miserable, rubbing at his chest, the same spot Sirius had shown them. “Many things. In this instance, it’s a summons.”

“Can’t you ignore it?” James asked.

“It starts out burning,” Sirius said. “The longer you disobey, the more it hurts. After a day, it feels like a stab wound. After two… well, I never made it more than two.”

Lily watched Harry happily playing with the compass, twisting his torso to make the needle move, and tried to imagine tattooing him, or murmuring the spells to make that tattoo feel like a knife in his chest. She couldn’t. She’d have taken the pain herself before she gave it to her son. “You said you broke yours, Sirius. How’d you do it?”

Sirius glanced up at Remus guiltily before looking down, toeing at the ottoman. “Ah, well. Maybe we should find another route.” Remus frowned down at him, tugging a strand of Sirius’ hair reprovingly. “I was young!” Sirius said defensively. “I wouldn’t do it that way now!”

“I don’t mind,” Regulus said. “I can take it.”

“_ No _ ,” James said firmly. “You sodding Blacks are so excited to split yourselves open. You have friends who can and could’ve _ helped _ you,” he finished with a short glare over at Sirius. “We will find a solution.”

“I know a bit about enchanted tattoos,” Remus said. “I’ll see what I can find here that will help.”

“I’ll see if I can brew anything to limit the pain,” James said, hefting Harry into his arms. “Want to see a cauldron, mate?” He asked, and wonder of wonders, Harry giggled.

“Yeah!” He said, holding the compass to his chest. “I wanna see!”

Lily felt love bloom thick in her chest. James glanced over at her, his face split wide open in pure joy to see their son smiling again. She smiled back at him. “I’ll join Moony with research.”

Sirius flicked his wand, summoning a book off of the wall. “Research party. Just like the old days.” His face screwed up for a minute, pain or anger or something else as he realized what that meant: old days, except Peter was gone, except Marlene and Dorcas were dead, except—

“Maybe I’ll help Prongs with the potion instead,” Sirius said, rising to his feet. 

  
  
  


Lily looked up from the book on the table and rubbed her eyes. Her stomach hurt, and it took her longer than it should’ve to realize she was feeling hunger. She hadn’t had a body in so long, she had forgotten the signs. “Anybody want a snack?”

Remus didn’t look up from his book, just nodded. “Pre-moon fare, please,” he murmured.

Lily looked to Regulus, who was staring off into space, a book forgotten in front of him. “Regulus?”

He jumped, startling back into the present. His face twisted, running through a dozen split-second options before settling on blank. “Pardon?”

“Hungry?”

Regulus nodded, a polite incline of his head he must’ve had down pat since he was a child. “Thank you.”

She stood and stretched, feeling muscles twitch and shift with the motion. She walked down the quiet halls of Potter Manor, watching James’ ancestors smile down at her from portraits. She had never lived in Potter Manor before; it made James sad to be in his family home without his parents, their deaths too near, so they moved to Godric’s Hollow, which felt more comfortable anyway. Potter Manor sprawled, rooms leading to rooms, building on itself with the energy of a puppy who has recently discovered fetch. It was a friendly house, sunny, dotted with plants. She liked to imagine James’ childhood here, carefree as it was. She liked to imagine him happy.

She heard James’ voice as she moved towards the kitchen, gentle as it was in moments where all of his care surged to the surface. She stopped walking and leaned against the wall, not so much to eavesdrop as to hear the music of it. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” James was saying, but she could hear the smile in it.

“I’m not an idiot.” Sirius, petulant and a little incredulous, the way he always was when James didn’t find him perfect.

“You’re not. You, Messr Padfoot, are the smartest man I’ve ever met. So don’t be an idiot. Don’t do that thing you do where you hide how much it hurts.”

“I don’t-what-“

“_ Padfoot _. You just got out of Azkaban. I found you in a puddle of your own blood.”

There was a pause. “I know.” Sirius’ voice was small.

“Have you talked about it at all? Told Remus what it was like?”

“I… mentioned it.”

James’ voice was kind, warm like sunshine. “Tell him.”

Lily pushed open the door to the kitchen. James was leaned against one of the vast cream countertops, stirring a cauldron. Harry was asleep in his arms, head against James’ shoulder, the stuffed kneazle still clutched in his hand. Sirius was sat on the counter, his shoulders slumped in. She smiled at him and he smiled back reflexively, a little tug of a thing. “Hello boys,” she said, moving to stand by Sirius and pat his leg. He leaned towards her the way Padfoot did, as if proximity was communication. “How’s the potion going?”

“Should be done in fifteen minutes or so. Just needs time to thicken.” James glanced down at the cauldron, bubbling with a frothy green liquid that made the whole kitchen smell like bananas. “I showed Harry how to use the cauldron. He nearly climbed inside.”

“And the excitement of all of it knocked him out?” Lily asked. She resisted the urge to put her hand on Harry’s back. _ Let him sleep _ she told herself, like she used to tell James, when Harry was just born and the excitement of seeing his wide eyes open was unbearable. They had watched him sleep for hours at a time. Now she watched the way James held him easily, how he didn’t put Harry down even though his arms must hurt from the effort. She loved James for so many reasons, and one was because he would hold their son until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“How is he holding up?” James asked, bringing her back to reality. 

“Regulus? Looks like he’s fine, so probably in agony.” Lily said.

“Is he drifting off into space?” Sirius asked. 

“Like a wee astronaut.”

“He’s in pain, then.” 

Lily sighed. “A pox on Walburga Black and her horrible version of motherhood.”

“I don’t think she thinks of herself as a mother so much as a sea monster on land,” Sirius said.

“Wish she’d do us all a favor and return to the ocean,” James grumbled, toeing at the cauldron. “Maybe take a long swim into the blue.”

Lily combed her fingers through Sirius’ hair, humming in appreciation. “We need to get that good conditioner again.”

“I had to use the peasant stuff Remus keeps,” Sirius said, touching the end of Lily’s hair. “Your ends look nice.”

“Suppose you can’t come back to life with split ends.”

James glanced over at them and laughed. “I missed the salon. I’d make a joke about the two of you painting each other’s nails, but you probably will.”

“Been a moment since I painted my nails.” Sirius looked at his fingernails speculatively. “Used to drive Moony crazy. Wouldn’t admit it.”

“I don’t think admitting his desires is part of Remus’ skill set,” Lily said. “There may be some nail polish upstairs, you know. Maybe some eyeliner. Put glitter on your cheekbones.” She grinned deviously. “Remus might have a heart attack.”

Sirius kicked his feet a little, bouncing them against the cabinets. “James says I should talk about… about what happened.”

“It’d probably help,” Lily admitted, tucking Sirius’ hair back behind his ear. “I know you found us. That couldn’t have been easy.”

Sirius shuddered, like having them back alive wasn’t enough to erase the horror of finding them dead, and it wasn’t, nothing ever would. Then Sirius was gone and Padfoot was there instead, thin and shaggy with his tail tucked between his legs. Lily ran her fingers over his head. “Poor Padfoot,” she murmured. “We’ll just keep going, shall we? We’ll just keep trying as best we can, and we’ll hold on to each other, and that will be alright.”

  
  
  


Regulus forced the pain down. It was like a deep burn now, his muscles spasming, his fingers clenching and unclenching under the table. He was pretending to read a book, but really he was just trying to exist. Besides, the books wouldn’t help. Regulus had learned a long time ago that Walburga’s magic couldn’t be defeated. Life was not that easy.

Lupin sighed and sat back from his book, rubbing at his side, as he had over the last few hours. “Well, it’s a theory,” he murmured, as if to himself.

The library door opened soundlessly and a large black dog padded in, nosing at Lupin’s hand. “Mmm?” Lupin hummed, and looked up at the dog. “Hello, love. How’s the potion?”

The dog crawled under the table and out of sight. Regulus stared. “You have a dog?”

Lupin looked over at him. “I’d say James does, but that’s been a spot of contention for some time now. Do you remember if the tattoo was drawn on like a rune or if it appeared all at once like a curse mark?”

“How… it appeared like a curse mark. I didn’t see a dog at your cottage.”

“Well that’s helpful,” Lupin said, trailing one finger along the pages of the book. “So perhaps if we… well, it’d have to be… hmmm? No. You wouldn’t have. He just needs some time.”

“Some time under the table?” Regulus leaned over to look at the massive dog, huddled against Lupin’s feet. It barely fit under the table at all. It was massive.

“Well, we might move over to by the fireplace—that’d be nice, hmmm? Feel the heat?” Lupin asked, petting the dog with his free hand.

Regulus blinked down at his hands, distracted from the pain in his chest by the fact that Sirius’ lover was, apparently, insane. He wondered if it was a werewolf thing. “Riiiiight,” he said. “I’ll just… go find Sirius, shall I?”

Lupin quirked his eyebrow over at Regulus. “Well you could join him under there.”

Regulus forced a polite laugh and rose to his feet. “Yes, I’ll do that,” he said, and then took a hurried step back when the dog emerged from the table, staring at him. “Ah, nice… dog,” he said awkwardly. “Just… stay there. Lupin, tell him to stay.”

Lupin turned to look at him in real bafflement, and the dog took a step closer, grabbing the sleeve of Regulus’ robes in its teeth. “You could just ask,” Lupin said slowly. 

“I rather doubt he speaks English!” Regulus said, growing almost hysterical now. The dog was _ biting _ his _ robes _. “Kindly call him off!”

Realization spread over Lupin’s face, followed by mirth. “Sirius,” he laughed, and the dog turned to look at him. “He doesn’t know.”

Then the dog was not a dog, was morphing, was his brother, shaking out his long limbs. “I thought you saw,” Sirius said. He was trying for cheerful but his voice was hollow like he had been punched.

“Saw? Saw you become an Animagus?”

“No, I did that back at Hogwarts. Saw me, I mean. In…” he trailed off, swallowing hard. To Regulus’ horror, it looked like his brother might cry. “In there. I was usually… only, it helped, and…”

Lupin was out of his chair, touching Sirius’ back, his arm. “Come here, Padfoot,” he said in a voice unbearably kind. “Come sit by the fire.”

Regulus watched Lupin pull his brother over to the fireplace, Sirius’ head on Lupin’s shoulder. Regulus fidgeted, a terrible habit Andromeda had taught him and he never forgave her for. “It wasn’t that clear,” he said lamely. “I just knew you were sad.”

Lupin kept one hand in the center of Sirius’ back, between his shoulder blades. He produced chocolate from somewhere–it might’ve been actual magic, Regulus wasn’t sure–and made Sirius take a bite. Sirius looked deflated and tired suddenly, like the cheer of the day had left him empty. He pulled his knees to his chest like he was a boy again.

Regulus wanted to reassure him like Lupin was, and also wanted to smack him like Walburga would’ve, and he wasn’t sure which desire made him hate himself more, the softness or the cruelty. He looked miserably down at his feet.

“I think I know how to break the tattoo,” Lupin said conversationally. “Or have a theory, at least.”

“How?” Regulus asked, allowing himself to move closer to the roaring fire and the warmth.

“It wasn’t made with your mother’s wand, was it?”

“No. It was… Father did it.” Regulus cleared his throat, and pushed the memory away, how terrified he had been. It had burned and bled for hours. He had cried, and Sirius had hugged him afterwards, and told him that they matched. 

“Where is his wand now?” Lupin asked.

“Mother keeps it on display in the study.”

“You aren’t going there,” Sirius said suddenly. Regulus nearly opened his mouth to argue that he hadn’t said as much, but then Sirius sat up and glared furiously at Lupin. 

Lupin sighed. “Well someone has to.”

“I’ll do it.”

“No,” Lupin said flatly, shaking his head once. “You will not.”

“I know it best, and–“

“Sirius, you aren’t going,” Lupin didn’t raise his voice, but he may as well have. There was something like a threat in his tone. “No.”

“_No_? What are you? My mother?” Sirius demanded.

“I am not. I love you much more than that.”

Regulus contemplated running. It seemed like Sirius and Lupin were having a skirmish in a long running war, and he didn’t particularly feel like witnessing it, especially since it seemed his brother was losing. Instead he cleared his throat. “Pardon. Are you saying we can break the tattoo with my Father’s wand?”

Lupin broke the staring contest he was having with Sirius. When he looked at Regulus, his eyes seemed to glow golden and feral in a way he was sure they hadn’t before. “Yes. I’m going to make a field trip to Grimmauld Place.”


	10. Werewolf v Banshee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus meets his mother in law.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters mentions life at Grimmauld Place and some intense and awful child abuse. Please be gentle to yourself.

Remus could feel Sirius practically vibrating with the sort of anger that was a thinly disguised replacement for fear. He was bunched up next to him on a couch in the Potter Manor library, and normally it might’ve been nice to sit there together, the fireplace warming their legs, the tall ceilings disappearing into darkness, the moon illuminating the patches of gardens outside. Sirius’ anger, and the matching rage simmering under Remus’ skin, put a bit of a damper on things.

“Tell me again why you have to go to Grimmauld Place,” Lily said patiently. It was late, and they were all tired, but a fresh round of coffee was sustaining them. Lily was sat next to James, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees and her red hair falling in her face. Beside her, James was rubbing at his eyes like he was exhausted. He had only been alive a handful of days, but it had already been a long week.

“The tattoos are not much more than a curse, I think. An abiding curse, but a curse. We don’t know the countercurse, and it could take ages to find one. But if we can access the wand that made the curse, we can break it,” Remus said. He could feel Sirius’ glare burning on his skin. “There may be other ways, but I don’t think we’ve got time for them.”

“I can bear it,” Regulus said stubbornly.

“I can hear your heart rate. It’s been elevated for hours. You practically smell like pain.” Remus said. Regulus wore outrage precisely the same way Sirius did, his mouth falling open in shock. Remus wanted to make nice with Sirius’ brother, he truly did, but there was no reasoning with the two of them. Sometimes he just had to ask for forgiveness instead of permission.

“So we need to get the wand,” Lily said.

“Right. You and James aren’t going; you haven’t had time to practice any kind of magic since you got back. I think it’s obvious why Sirius and Regulus shouldn’t go. That leaves me.”

“_ I _ don’t think it’s obvious!” Sirius snapped. “I know that house best. I lived there!”

“You.are not.going,” Remus said in a politely menacing tone. 

“Padfoot,” James said tiredly, just as Sirius’ face took on the expression of a tea kettle about to boil. “You swore you were never stepping foot in that house again. You promised me. No take backs.”

“This is clearly an exception!” Sirius spluttered.

“I don’t see it that way. Are you going to break your promise?”

Sirius threw himself back into the corner of the couch, arms crossed petulantly across his chest. “No,” he spat. “I don’t _ do _ that.”

“Very good,” Remus said brightly, a sea of relief swallowing him. Good old James. Remus was fully prepared to lock Sirius in a closet to stop him from leaving. The thought was unbearable. When he pictured Sirius walking in to Grimmauld Place, the edges of his vision tinged black. Sirius could be mad at him for a hundred years, but Remus was never letting the Black family get their hands on Sirius ever again.

“I could go,” Regulus said with a ghost of Sirius’ stubbornness.

“I rather think that defeats the point, don’t you, Reg?” Lily asked gently.

“You’ll face her. But wait until you’re stronger,” James insisted. “Give yourself more than three days.”

Regulus frowned down at his hands. “I’m not a coward,” he said softly.

“I don’t believe you are,” Remus said, before James or Lily could rush to his aid. “You’re smart. Smart enough to recognize why you shouldn’t be the one to do this.”

“_ No one _ thinks you’re a coward,” Lily said earnestly. “You helped us come back.”

“You could’ve been a Gryffindor,” James said brightly.

Regulus look unconvinced. Remus looked at Sirius with one eyebrow raised expectantly. Sirius glared back at him, as if to say that he wasn't feeling particularly helpful towards Remus at the moment. Remus glared back at him. After a brief but heated silent conversation about precisely how much shit Remus was willing to accept, Sirius threw up his hands. “There’s no use arguing with this lot, Regulus. You might as well do as they say. Besides all that, they’re right, which is just revolting, but true.”

Remus let out a breath. It was _ so _ much easier when Sirius decided to see reason. Easier and rare.

Regulus glanced at his brother, then down at his hands again. “It doesn’t seem right to ask someone else to be involved in family matters,” he said.

“I’m nearly your brother-in-law, as far as these things go,” Remus said helpfully.

Regulus looked up in surprise. “You’re married?”

“Practically. Just haven’t picked out the dress.” Sirius sunk down further into the couch, kicking his legs out from his chest and onto Remus’ lap, a sullen peace offering. Remus squeezed Sirius’ ankle, feeling the bones between his fingers. He could tell how close the moon was, because he thought about biting where his fingers pressed. He forced the thought away.

“I would appreciate some tips, though,” Remus said. “I’ve never been in Grimmauld Place.”

“I’ll draw you a map,” Regulus offered, grabbing a quill from the study table. “Where will you go in? The front door?”

“And have Walburga flay him on the spot?” Sirius demanded. “No. He can sneak in through my old room. I got all the wards off that window.”

“You what? Father would–“ Regulus began.

“Beat me senseless if he knew, yes.”

“I was going to say kill you.”

“Well, he never found out,” Sirius said. “Lucky me.”

  
  
  


Remus tucked the map Regulus had drawn into his pocket. He slid his wand into the holster on his left arm and pulled the Invisibility Cloak across his shoulders. James had silenced his footsteps. Regulus told him the best place to apparate nearby. Lily had found an old broomstick and shrunk it down to fit in his pocket. He was ready.

Arms slid around his waist, and there was a pressure against his back. He could smell Sirius, the unusual spike of fear mixed with his shampoo and the unique scent he could pick up best near the moons. Sirius didn’t say anything, just kept his face pressed between Remus’ shoulder blades.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Remus promised, turning. He pulled Sirius closer, kissed the corner of his mouth. “It’s just a house. It can’t swallow me.”

Sirius looked up at him, and Remus expected him to be angry or snide or at least make a joke, but instead he looked terrified, his grey eyes wide and lost. “It swallowed me,” he said softly. “For months. I would run and run and there was never a way out. Sometimes I even tried looking for my cell, because if I could find Azkaban I could wake up from Grimmauld Place, but…” He trailed off, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “It’s endless in there.”

It felt like getting stabbed, seeing that look on Sirius’ face. Remus made a pained noise and tightened his arms, pulling Sirius flush against him. “You’re never going back. It can’t swallow you now. And it won’t hurt me. I promise. I’m going to climb in your window, walk down the stairs, get the wand, and get out.”

“If she finds you,” Sirius began, and then stopped. He was trembling. 

“She can’t hurt me. She hasn’t got a wand. And I’m not a child.” He tipped Sirius’ chin up and smiled as warmly as he could. “If she finds me, I’ll say hello, you old hag, and walk right by her.”

Sirius made a valiant attempt at a smile. Remus kissed him. “I’ll get it, and then we’ll spend every minute between here and moonrise tomorrow laying under the covers, alright? Find us something good to read while I’m gone. We’ll take turns going aloud.”

Sirius nodded, distracted like he was in two worlds at once. Remus kissed him again, an effort to steal his attention back. “Besides, it’s so close to the Full, I’m practically invincible,” he lied. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“If you get stuck, you’ll send a patronus,” Sirius murmured.

“Yes. Right off.” Remus squeezed Sirius, worry curling in his stomach. He wasn’t afraid of Grimmauld Place, nor of Walburga; he was afraid to see Sirius so openly lost, so scared on the surface. Sirius hid fear beneath bravado and daring. He never just stood shivering in Remus’ arms.

“Got what you need?” James asked, leaning against the doorway to the library. 

“I’m set,” Remus said. “You and Sirius should play gobstones while I’m gone.”

James opened his mouth to respond, but then he saw Sirius and frowned deeply before recovering into a fake cheer. “Come on, Pads. Regulus just drank that potion and so far it’s doing shit all. Maybe we can distract him with our epic wit and excellent gameplay.”

Sirius detached himself from Remus slowly, like it took great effort. “You’ll send a patronus,” he repeated.

“I won’t have time. I’ll be back too fast.” Remus smiled reassuringly.

James took Sirius by the shoulder, steering him out towards the hall. “See you in a bit, Moony!” He called.

Remus closed his eyes.

He opened them again in an alleyway, the bustle of London subdued around him, people asleep in their homes. There was a tidal wave of sensations, smells and sounds and the feel of cool night air on his skin. His senses were at their peak now, and he could smell the petrol in the cars and the curry someone had eaten not too far away. He cleared his mind of all that and focused instead on the wand. It was just a wand, and 12 Grimmauld Place was just a house, and he could do this. He would do this.

As he left the alleyway and strolled down the street, the house appeared out of the light evening mist, shoving the others out of its way. Remus had never been inside before, and he couldn’t help but be curious. He walked past it, to the end of the row of townhouses, and glanced around for a nighttime patrol before he hopped over the fence. 

Behind the townhouses was a little green belt, just enough room to plant some flowers and soak in the sun on good days. It was bathed in moonlight now, and the moon tugged at his bones, making him want a dozen things, to chase and to run and to bite and Sirius, _ Sirius _. He pushed the thoughts away and crossed the green belt like he belonged there, hands in his pockets like he was out for a late night walk and nothing more. 

The green belt should’ve continued uninterrupted, and he was sure to muggle eyes it did. But he could see the thick hedges that clearly marked the limit of the Black family property. Of course, they were Black hedges, so instead of being green and lively, they were thorny and vicious, and when Remus raised his fingers to touch a bit of the foliage, the thorns arched towards him, eager for blood.

He unholstered his wand and quickly sliced a passage through the hedge. It hissed at him, and began to regrow almost instantly, but he squeezed through before the hedge could sink its thorns into him. As he came into the other side, he found himself in a garden that must’ve been stunning at one point, but was now overgrown and wild. There were orderly trails overtaken by wild vines and thick, blooming flowers that smelled sweet but, he knew, were a trap. At a glance he could identify half a dozen plants, all popular in a variety of poisons, and he nearly rolled his eyes. They were so _ predictable _. 

He moved fast, just in case Walburga was awake and looking out a window, pressing himself against the wall of the house. Sirius’ window was high above him, four flights up, and he couldn’t help but think of a prisoner at the top of the jail. He pulled the broomstick from his pocket and murmured the incantation to grow it back to full size, and then he was rising slowly.

Remus wasn’t as good at flying as James or Sirius, but years of being forced into Quidditch with them had taught him a number of tricks. He steered the broom effortlessly and came to a halt four stories up beside a bedroom window.

Inside it was darker than the garden, like the moonlight couldn’t stretch its fingers inside the house. He waved his wand and the window slid open silently. Sirius’ charms had stuck. He wondered how Sirius had gotten out of this window, if he flew. Knowing Sirius, he probably leapt. Remus climbed through the window and shrunk the broom again, tucking it away in his pocket.

Around him, Grimmauld Place was silent. As his eyes adjusted to the low light, he could see the remains of Sirius’ room. It looked deserted; besides a few Gryffindor banners and some bikini clad women (a notion that made Remus snort; Sirius was more interested in how his own body would look in a bikini that any woman’s) on the walls, the room was empty of everything save an ornate mahogany bed and dust. He had expected more opulence. At least a chandelier.

He was halfway to the door when he heard footsteps.

He moved fast, darting into the closet and closing it behind him as silently as he could. The closet was not so empty as the room; endless dress robes brushed against him, charmed impervious to dust. He waited as the footsteps drew nearer. It had to be Walburga. Or one of Sirius’ grandfathers, he supposed, maybe a cousin who was still alive and begging Walburga for scraps of the family fortune.p

The footsteps came nearly to the door, and then they veered, moving behind Remus on the other side of the wall. He waited for long minutes, but whoever it was wasn’t moving. He cast a faint _ lumos _ to check the hand drawn map in his pocket. The only other thing on the floor was Regulus’ room.

The faint light from his wand illuminated the dress robes around him, deep greens that Sirius would’ve hated to wear at any age. It also illuminated the door of the closet, a thick wood that was marred by what looked like scratch marks. The marks started low on the ground and moved up towards Remus’ shoulders in fitful patches, like whoever made them was moving between standing and crouching.

_Or growing_, Remus realized with gritted teeth. Sirius’ hatred for confined spaces, the way he had blasted apart their whole dormitory once when James pushed him into the wardrobe as a joke. James had never done it again. They all assumed it was a fit of temper. He thought too of Sirius, rambunctious and full of life, and how a woman like Walburga might grow tired of his excitement, his curiosity. What she might do to teach him silence.

Remus traced his fingers along the scratch marks. There was a lump in his throat. _ It’s endless in there _, Sirius had said. He clenched his fists. 

He pushed open the closet door, listening for the footsteps. Nothing. He slipped the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders, checked to make sure James’ spell hadn’t worn off, and carefully, carefully opened the bedroom door.

Walburga Black stared at him.

Or through him, really. She was stood in the doorway to Regulus’ room, her greying hair piled in an elegant bun. Her arms were crossed in front of her thin body. She was tall like Sirius, with the same willowy build, and they had the same grey eyes, although his were sparkling and kind and hers were cruel. She glared through Remus like she was seeing something she hated.

Remus slid to the side just in time for her to reach out and slam Sirius’ door shut. “Filth,” she muttered, and turned back towards Regulus’ room.

Remus held his breath as she stood in the doorway. She looked into Regulus’ room like she was searching for something. Maybe the sons she had lost, or perhaps just the power over them. She shook herself like a woman waking from a dream and moved towards the stairs. She moved slowly, her hand trailing along the wall as she went, muttering under her breath. 

Remus watched her descend and counted to sixty after she had passed out of view. He followed behind her, careful on the stairs, avoiding the creaks Regulus had warned him of. The fact that Regulus had memorized every creak in four flights of stairs succinctly demonstrated how he had survived a childhood in Grimmauld Place. He paused now and then to check the map and to listen for Walburga, but by the time he made it to the ground floor, the house was consumed with silence.

Not quite silence: the portraits above him murmured and whispered, and he had the distinct feeling that if they could see him, they would do more. Remus had been on good terms with more than a few portraits at Hogwarts, but these ones didn’t look given to friendship.

He crept along a passageway towards the study. He had heard about the study in stories Sirius would only whisper when the lights were off, huddled in the corner of Remus’ bed. That was how it was, for so many years: by day Sirius was alive and laughing and fearless, and at night he would sneak to Remus’ bed and whisper all the true things he had hidden away, how he missed his brother, how afraid he was they’d marry him off to Bellatrix, how much of a let down it was to kiss Marlene. Remus was quite happy about the last one, but most of the secrets were not quite so cheerful.

Remus squeezed through the half open door and looked around Orion Black’s study. It was grim, and not just from the dust; the walls were black, a wallpaper that hinted at roses without any color involved. The room was dominated by a large desk, and although a window overlooked the street outside, it felt isolated and alien, like being in this room and this house separated one forever from the outside world. Beyond the desk there was a fireplace, and on the mantle was the wand.

The moment he lifted the wand up, a shrill noise filled the room, winding louder and louder, a siren or a scream. He slammed his eyes shut and covered his ears, pain radiating through his head. By sheer force of will he got the wand into his pocket, and just in time, for Walburga came rushing in, her eyes alight.

“Enough!” She shouted, and the noise stopped. Remus moved back carefully. She shouldn’t have been able to do magic. Her wand was in pieces. But hadn’t both Sirius and Regulus done wandless magic since they returned? Hadn’t he watched Sirius perform dozens of silent, wandless spells? Walburga Black was the daughter of one of the most magical families in London. Of course she didn’t need a wand to direct her birthright.

He grimaced. Walburga was standing in the doorway, smiling brightly. “I knew you’d come, son,” she said. “I had hoped you’d enter through the front door. You are heir to this house.” She waited for a response, and when none came, her smile turned dangerous. “Or have you forgotten? I hear you return with bloodtraitors. I hear you lost your way.” Her voice was low and deadly. “I did not raise you to roll around in the dirt.”

Remus eyed the window out to the street. He was fast, but it might be locked, or charmed shut. He couldn’t apparate, thanks to Orion Black’s obsessive security. Walburga stood in the doorway, the only way out.

“I promised to keep you pure,” she crooned, and for a moment she sounded almost tender. “You can trust your Mother.”

She raised her hands and a cloud of smoke drifted from her fingertips, spreading through the study. It swayed and moved like a living thing, jerking in odd directions. _Like it’s searching something out_, Remus thought, just before it lunged and found him.

Blinding, dazzling pain filled him. He dropped before he could think, letting out a hoarse cry. It felt like his nerves were on fire. It felt like he would combust. Through the haze he could see Walburga approaching, laughing. She thought he was Regulus. She thought he was her favorite son, and she was laughing at his agony. Something warned him that this was only the beginning of her re-education plan.

“Fuck you,” Remus hissed, and launched himself at the door.

Years of full moons had taught Remus to think through pain, and he was full of moon magic now, thrumming with its energy. He forced his legs to move, to drive him down the hall, up the stairs, even as his vision was swarmed with white, clouds of pain bursting through him. He clawed at the stairs when his legs failed, dragging himself up on his knees. Walburga and the smoke were following him, and he had to move faster. He promised Sirius he would come home.

He clambered to the top of the stairs and threw himself past Sirius’ door, slamming it behind him and locking it with his wand. The smoke began to pour in around the edges He stumbled back from the door, panting hard. 

“Regulus!” Walburga screamed, pounding on the door. “You open this door! You open this door or I will break every bone in your body! I will destroy you, Regulus Arcturus! _Open this door_!”

Remus lunged for the window. The moon was bright outside. There was a splintering noise, and the door flew open behind him.

Everything went dark.

  
  
  


He woke up in Sirius’ childhood room, his body stiff and unresponsive. He could move his eyes, but beyond that it was all out of his control. Even his lungs were on someone else’s command; when he tried to take a centering breath, they ignored him, his chest rising and falling evenly. He cursed inwardly. 

He had promised Sirius everything would be alright.

“He’s awake, aunt Walburga,” came a cool, high voice, dripping with disdain. A blonde woman came into his view. He cursed again. Narcissa Malfoy.

Narcissa stood with her wand gripped loosely in one hand, wearing a soft blue dress that highlighted her collar bones, her long, slim calves. She looked beautiful, and a little bored. She also looked like she would slice Remus in half.

Remus watched her as Walburga came into view, the very subtle way Narcissa flinched back from her. She may have been called in as backup, but she clearly wasn’t elated about it. 

“Little fly,” Walburga sneered. She was holding the Invisibility Cloak. “Caught in a web. You thought you could get the better of me? I am the mistress of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black!”

_I know_, Remus thought tiredly. He tried to tune out the sound of her voice and listen for other noises, heartbeats or breathing, anything to suggest someone else had come. But there was nothing but the two of them, Walburga’s sneering, snarling words, Narcissa’s reluctance.

“Did you seek treasure?” She demanded. “To assault our honor? Or are you some filthy blood traitor here to spy on us?”

_I want to go home and snog your son until we both forget the sound of your voice_ , Remus thought. He wondered how many times Sirius had sat in the same room and listened to this kind of speech. _Fuck you_, he thought again, with more fury. 

“He’s one of Sirius’ friends,” Narcissa said, eyeing Remus like he was some shit on her shoe.

Walburga spun at her, one hand raised in warning. “Do not _ speak _that name in this house!” She hissed.

Narcissa held her ground, tipping her chin up. “Yes, aunt Walburga. I mean to say he’s one of that blood traitor’s friends.”

Walburga turned away from her, muttering to herself. “That little monster. I should have wrung his neck the day he made it into that ridiculous House. He never ceases to bring shame on this family. Worthless! Wasteful!”

Anger rippled through Remus, a pulse of bright fury that tasted like transformation. 

“It’s not too late,” Narcissa said with a shrug. “I hear he’s out of jail now. If Regulus is with him, perhaps you can sort them both out.”

_No_, Remus thought furiously, the anger growing stronger and brighter in him.

Walburga glanced at Narcissa and then back to Remus, a smile spreading slowly over her face. “I suppose we do have some collateral, now don’t we?”

“I’ll kill you if you touch him,” Remus snarled. Walburga gaped at him, but he rose from the chair, the spell sliding off of him like water from a duck. She was an heir to magic but he was made from the moon, and his blood thrummed with its power. “If you lay your hands on Sirius again, if you look at him, if you even think of him, I will burn this house to the ground.”

Narcissa raised her wand, a curse on her lips, but he tore the wood from her hands and threw it over his shoulder. She skittered back, holding her hands up in front of her chest as if in surrender. Walburga’s mouth worked soundlessly, her eyes raging even in defeat.

“This belongs to me,” Remus said, and took the Invisibility Cloak from her. He checked for his own wand, and Orion’s. Walburga was shaking, her fists clenched at her sides. He walked past her, to the window, forcing it open and letting the broom come back to its full size. He slung one leg over the sill, holding the broom out in the air, and then he stopped, some saner thought showing through.

“Walburga,” he said, almost nicely. “You might think I’m threatening you. You might be inclined to escalate this, to try and make life difficult for Sirius or Regulus on account of my actions. But please understand. I’m not trying to intimidate you. I’m giving you a statement of fact. You have harmed them for the last time. They’re no longer yours. And if you try, I will destroy your life.” He looked up at her, his eyes shining gold, glowing softly in the dark of the room. “I will destroy everything you have left, Walburga. Leave them alone.”

He slid off the windowsill and onto the broom, and flew out into the crisp predawn air.


	11. Fights, Some Mended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus returns. Regulus opens his stupid mouth. Lily has to deal with all of these idiots, bless her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Sirius get ~steamy~ but not quite smutty. Regulus describes and defends child abuse because he needs a good hug, the big ole idiot.

By the time Remus got back to Potter Manor, dawn was streaking across the sky.

He closed the front door quietly. In the warm entryway a portrait of the Euphemia and Fleamont sleepily waved at him while a very young James dozed against his mother’s hip. He could hear snoring coming from the parlour. When he poked his head in he found his friends in a heap, James and Lily curled together on the carpet, Harry between them. Even in sleep Lily’s hand rested on Harry’s shoulder, and James curled over the boy like a blockade. Above them, Regulus was asleep on a sofa, fitful and sweating, his elegant features twisted in pain.

Remus fished around in his pocket for Orion’s wand. Now that he had time to inspect it he saw that it was inflexible and short, more like a dagger than a wand. He held it out towards Regulus and murmured a half dozen counter spells, relying on sheer willpower to make the wand recognize him.

It was _finite_ that did it. There was a rush of air and then Regulus’ face cleared, relief replacing pain even as he mumbled something incoherent and rolled over.

Remus pocketed the wand. That was one Black brother taken care of. He turned to look for Sirius and found him standing behind him, watching. “You did it,” Sirius said in disbelief. He was still wearing Remus’ jumper. The moon pulsing in Remus’ blood recognized him, and missed him.

Remus kissed him, because he couldn’t think of anything but kissing him, his hand in Sirius’ hair. He pushed Sirius backwards out of the parlour, into the hall, swallowing his noise of surprise, pressing Sirius against the wall and kissing him against the crown molding. “You’re staying with me,” Remus murmured against his mouth.

“Yeah, okay” Sirius agreed breathlessly, his fingers curling on Remus’ broad shoulders. “I’m staying with you.”

“She can’t have you,” Remus said, fingers skimming under Sirius’ jumper. “I won’t let her.”

Sirius pulled back, placing one hand on Remus’ chest to stop him from following. “You saw her?”

Remus wanted to shut him up with a kiss, but he struggled through the moondrunk feeling to take a breath. “I did.”

Sirius looked like he might be sick. “Did she see you?” Remus nodded once. Sirius made an angry noise. “Where are you hurt?”

“I’m not.”

“Moony–“

Remus stepped back and pulled his shirt up over his head, revealing a scarred torso. He dropped the shirt on the ground. In the back of his mind he knew that the moon was full and it made him feel dangerously invincible. He ignored those thoughts and looked at Sirius. “Look at me. I’m alright.”

Sirius’ breath hitched. He touched Remus’ side, fingers cool and light. The bite there was sensitive this close to the Full, and Sirius’ fingers skirted around it out of instinct, grazing up Remus’ ribs to his chest. He met Remus’ eyes and for the first time in several hours smiled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were seducing me.”

“You would be correct,” Remus said with a flash of his teeth. “I’m also proving a point.”

“A two for one,” Sirius said, brushing his knuckles against Remus’ stomach.

“I’m not hurt,” Remus repeated. “She did get me with some kind of awful smoke, and then I think she put me in a body bind. Or tried. It didn’t work.”

Sirius was staring somewhere south of Remus’ eyes, transfixed, but when he mentioned the body bind he looked up quickly. “You got out of her body bind?”

“Well it was that or stay for tea and I really didn’t like her company.”

Sirius laughed, and Remus felt like he could move the earth. _To hell with you, Walburga_, he thought, touching Sirius’ jaw, _he’s mine and he’s laughing._

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Sirius said, turning his head to kiss the inside of Remus’ wrist. “I worried.”

“Thought you were impervious to worry,” Remus said, a flare of heat in his spine when Sirius scraped his teeth over the thin flesh just over his pulse.

“That was before I knew you were impervious to Wally.” Sirius flashed Remus a grin before grasping his wrist, holding his hand in place as he flicked the tip of his tongue over Remus’ fingertips.

Remus responsed by pushing two fingers into Sirius’ mouth, his own jaw falling open in dumb wonder at the look on Sirius’ face, the way his eyes fluttered closed and his long lashes touched his cheeks. He accepted the fingers without protesting, curling his tongue around them in an incredibly convincing imitation of a blowjob. Remus watched him for a long moment, the soft pressure of Sirius’ lips against his knuckles, the way he looked perfectly and utterly content. It felt so good it almost hurt. He couldn’t bear it.

“I missed you,” Remus said roughly, pulling his fingers out of Sirius’ mouth to push up his shirt, exposing pale skin and tattoos. Merlin, but Sirius was pretty. Remus wanted to do everything to him at once.

Sirius shuddered. Remus kissed him until he thought they both might pass out. It felt deliriously good to kiss Sirius again, to bite at his lower lip, to slide his tongue into Sirius’ mouth. “I’m going to eat you alive, Sirius Black,” he promised, kissing a wet trail from Sirius’ mouth to his neck.

Remus loved every part of Sirius’ body but he would be lying if he said he didn’t have favorites, and this, the soft place near his collar bones, the juncture of neck and shoulder, was exceptionally good. He bit down hard there, hard enough that Sirius gasped and jerked in his arms, hard enough to leave a mark, which is really what he wanted, to mark Sirius up so that no one else could. He licked over the spot, humming as he did.

Sirius tilted his head back to bare his throat, and Remus was so pleased by the gesture that he slipped his hand into Sirius’ pants in reward. Sirius moaned, rocking his hips up against Remus’ hand. It had been months since he touched Sirius like this. It had been months since Sirius was touched. The thought made him snarl against Sirius’ neck. Sirius was his and needed to feel good and loved, needed to be touched and kissed and fucked and—

There was a noise behind them, and Remus didn’t want to pay attention to it but the noise turned into a voice, sleepy and then horrified. “Hey you’re bac—oh shit in the hallway _why_!” James howled.

“We were just–“ Sirius began breathlessly, and then didn’t have a way to end the sentence, still arching into Remus’ hand.

“Fuck off Prongs. We’re busy,” Remus growled.

“Go be busy upstairs! In your room!” James ordered. “Away from my wife and son!”

Remus felt like cursing him but resisted the urge. Instead he glared over his shoulder. James was standing in the doorway, his clothes rumpled and glasses askew, black hair sticking up in tufts, looking every bit as annoyed as he had been all those times he walked in on them at Hogwarts.

“I’m really happy you’re reconnecting but Merlin and Morgana, connect upstairs,” James said irritably. “Harry is too young to see this and it might break Regulus.”

Sirius huffed a laugh into Remus’ shoulder. “He’s right. He’s probably still a virgin.”

“I sincerely doubt your brother is a virgin,” Remus said, reluctantly removing his hand from Sirius’ pants. He snagged his teeth on Sirius’ earlobe just to see if it would still get a moan after all this time and, beautifully enough, it did. He grinned.

“Go,” James snapped, arms crossed.

Remus grabbed Sirius’ arm and pulled him along past James, up the stairs, ignoring the jaunty salute Sirius gave James as he was pulled. Later his bones would snap and bend, and he would scream out to the moon for mercy and for vengeance, forget his own name and soul. But there was hours of daylight left, and Sirius lit up his senses like he was high, and it was enough to walk backwards down the hall, kissing Sirius feverishly as he went.

In the bedroom Remus found himself divesting Sirius of his clothes as fast as humanly possible, possibly a little faster. He felt drunk, and he needed to see skin, to touch and taste and indulge until he forgot the long, long, endlessly long months when he believed this was all gone from him. Sirius was trying to help but Remus knocked his hands out of the way and pushed down Sirius’ pants impatiently.

“Moony, wait–“ Sirius was cut off as Remus kissed him again, their teeth clicking together. He pulled back and tried again, breathless. “Wait. Wait.”

It was an incredible force of will to listen but Remus did, stilling with a nervous energy that felt like it would burst from his skin. “Yeah?” He asked breathlessly.

Sirius looked away suddenly, and Remus wanted to hurt something, whatever it was that made Sirius look sad and distracted instead of eager. “Was there anyone else? While I…”

Remus closed his eyes. He knew they were going to have to have this conversation, but he had hoped to be a little more sensible when it happened. No time like the present. He looked intently at Sirius, his eyes golden and moonbright. “Yes. There was a bartender. A month ago.”

As he spoke, Sirius’ face crumbled. He put on a valiant show of not crumbling, nodding slightly, but he wouldn’t look Remus in the eyes, and he bit hard into his lower lip the way he always did when he was trying not to cry. Remus had seen heartbreak on Sirius’ face before; he recognized the signs.

“We flirted for a while,” he continued, because there was no way out but through. “She gave me free drinks and I needed them. One night we went outside. Back behind the bar. We kissed. She offered to take me back to her place. And I wanted to go. She was lovely, and I was lonely. She had very blue eyes.”

“I have to–“ Sirius moved to run, but Remus grabbed his wrists, holding them against his chest.

“_Listen_ to me,” Remus growled, his grip a little tighter than he normally allowed himself. “I wanted to fuck her, Sirius.”

“Let me go,” Sirius whispered.

“But I couldn’t. Because she wasn’t you. She didn’t smell like you, or laugh like you. You’re mine. I don’t want anyone else.”

Sirius stilled and looked up at him, his eyes wet, just a glance before looking away again, the briefest invitation to keep talking

“I sent her home and I had a wank and it was bullshit,” Remus said.

Sirius cleared his throat, and when he spoke his voice was cautious.“What did you think about when you–“

“You, damn it. You bent over your motorcycle screaming my name. I thought about you, Sirius.”

Sirius choked out a laugh, a relieved noise, although he still looked like he might cry. “You thought about me.”

“There was no one else because there can’t be anyone else.” Remus squeezed his wrists and used them to tug Sirius closer, knocking their foreheads together. “I only want you. I want to kiss you and fuck you and be with you and make you laugh and yell at you for dog earing my books. Do you understand?”

Sirius shivered. There was a time when this much unbridled affection would’ve made him run, and Remus wasn’t sure he wouldn’t now. He was sure that he’d tackle Sirius to the ground if he tried. But Sirius didn’t move away, just took a breath and looked up at Remus. “How many terrible wanks did you have while I was gone?”

“Too fucking many,” Remus snarled.

Sirius laughed again, this time against Remus’ mouth, the stress leaving his face. “No more of that, Moony,” he said softly. “Only very good sex from here on out.”

Regulus woke up because Harry was crying.

He didn’t know it was Harry, not at first. Before he opened his eyes he heard the thick, frantic sobs and assumed it was Sirius. _Maybe I can distract Mother,_ he thought as he awoke.

But when he opened his eyes he was not a boy in Grimmauld Place; he was in the parlour of Potter Manor, and Lily was hugging Harry to her chest, sitting on the ground near the sofa where Regulus slept. The room smelled faintly of sick. Lily was rocking slightly, her fingers smoothing Harry’s hair back. “It’s alright, Harry. It’s just fine, love. It was only an accident,” she crooned, her hair falling over Harry like a shield.

“What’s happened?” Regulus asked, sitting up. His tattoo didn’t hurt, and he palmed at his chest thoughtfully. He wouldn’t underestimate Lupin next time.

“Just an accident,” Lily said, rubbing Harry’s back. “Your tummy isn’t used to all this rich food, is it love? That’s all. We were too excited. We’ll eat easy things today, yes?”

Harry hiccuped against his mother’s shoulder, his little hands clutching her shirt for dear life. “S-Sorry,” he sniffled. “I sorry.”

“Nonsense and rubbish,” Lily said, kissing his head. “Nothing to be sorry for. You’re just fine.”

“I think if I ever threw up on my Mother she’d have thrown me away on the spot,” Regulus said idly, only partially aware that he was speaking aloud.

Lily gave him a hard to understand look. It would take him months to understand it as sadness and anger twined together. “How’s your chest?”

“It feels fine. Lupin must’ve done it.”

“I think I heard him come in. Actually, I think I heard him and Sirius traumatizing my husband.” She kissed Harry’s head again and said in a high, silly voice, “Your uncles are indecent! They are!”

“Ugh,” Regulus said, before he could help it, a pure noise of disgust. Lily looked up at him with one eyebrow raised. “It’s just, finally, is all,” Regulus said. “The sexual tension between those two.”

“It never gets any better,” she said as Harry finally turned around, his face blotchy from crying. He sat in Lily’s lap and leaned back against her, and popping his thumb in his mouth and looking around cautiously, like a lion (or a Dursley) might jump out from behind the couches to get him.

“They’re always like that?” Regulus asked.

“Always. I love them but they’re insufferable.” She lifted Harry’s feet, her hands cupped around the backs of his heels, bouncing them each in turn. Regulus watched a shy smile spread across Harry’s face.

“If I ever turn into that, put me back behind the Veil,” Regulus muttered.

Lily laughed, a sparkling noise that made Regulus feel like a child again, following Andromeda and Sirius on some forbidden adventure. He wasn’t always brave enough to follow them. Often he waited until they had gone and then snuck after them, keeping his distance, watching Andromeda catch sheep for Sirius to ride or the both of them play kickball with the muggles in the park. He never told them he came along. He had always worried they’d be displeased, and he’d seem weak and wanting. It seemed ugly to have desires.

But sometimes Sirius insisted he come, and he’d pretend to resist but give in, ducking under Sirius’ arm. They were broken the same ways, the three of them, and that made Regulus feel some kind of safe.

Regulus shook himself and found Lily watching him thoughtfully. “Where’d you go, just then?” She asked.

“I…” Regulus opened his mouth to speak and considered telling the truth. That was new for him. He had very rarely spoken the truth his entire life. His lies weren’t malicious (usually), just necessary. Survival lies. But he had been spending a lot of time with Lily, and he thought he might be beginning to understand Sirius’ definition of friendship, because he didn’t think Lily would help him socially or make him look like a good and proper Black, but he did think she might make him a warm drink if he admitted he was sad, and that seemed valuable now. He cleared his throat. “I was thinking about Andromeda. She was very daring. Not like Sirius; she never got caught. She taught us both how to sneak out, and evade the portraits, and…” he drifted off, running out of words. Honesty was exhausting.

“She seems like a delight. Maybe you should go see her.”

Regulus startled, then shook his head. “She wouldn’t like to see me now. She’s got a new family, and I was… when she was disowned, I went along with the others.”

“First, you can have a new family and still love your old one. Believe me.” Lily looked down at her son, her face twisting with emotion. “I loved my sister. Even though I had a new family, and even though she was cruel. I loved her for a very long time. And you have never locked Andromeda’s child in a closet, so I think you’re safe.”

“She’d kill me,” Regulus said. “She hated that.”

“Being locked in closets?” Lily asked, her brow furrowing.

Regulus nodded. “Of course she didn’t get it much. Didn’t get caught enough, except at the end, and by then they just made her a portrait. But she was always worried about Sirius.”

Lily stared at him, her hands stilling. “Made her a portrait?”

“For the summer.”

“They made her a portrait for the summer?”

“Mmm. She had outgrown the closet,” Regulus said, and was exceedingly pleased with himself for making honest conversation before he took in the look on Lily’s face. All at once it occurred to him that the reason they never spoke of how a child was raised in the House of Black might be because children were not raised this was in other places.

“Regulus. Please tell me you know children should not be locked in closets,” Lily said gently.

“It was only when one of us got overly emotional,” Regulus said, his cheeks getting hot. “To teach us to control our feelings.”

Lily’s mouth was a thin line. She shook her head. “That doesn’t teach control. That teaches fear.”

“Maybe it’s different in muggle homes,” Regulus said with just enough cruelty to feel strong. He couldn’t say why he was defending it; he hated it, always hated it, often sat outside the closet to keep Sirius company until it was over, to keep them both calm. But it felt like being exposed, Lily saying it was wrong. It felt like he had to defend himself.

“James was never once locked in a closet,” Lily said fiercely, not backing down as he backed into his old persona, proud and snide. “Neither was Remus. No. It’s not because they’re wizards. It’s because they’re cruel.”

“Well Lupin’s a half blood,” Regulus said, and he knew how he sounded but he couldn’t help it. He wished Sirius was there, suddenly and desperately, the way he used to wish for Sirius when he had first gone to Hogwarts. “And the Potters are practically—“

“Stop,” Lily ordered, and surprisingly, he did, his mouth a runaway train only halted by the force of her voice. “I can see I’ve hit a nerve, and you need time to figure it out. But don’t give me all this old snobbery. You’re better than that.” She stood, shifting Harry onto her hip as she did. “And I’m not going to listen to it.”

She left him in silence, forcing herself to let go of the anger as she did. She had a right to the anger, but Harry was watching her, green eyes curious at her every move, and she was determined to make him feel safe. Besides, she knew what it was like to deny that something hurt. Sometimes pretending it didn’t matter was the only way to survive how much it killed you.


	12. Did it feel loving?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily and James take a breath. Regulus asks questions.

Lily hummed a time as she carried Harry through Potter Manor in search of James. In some ways it was like they had never been separated. Harry’s black eye was gone, and he was clean now, dressed in soft clothes that actually fit him instead of the diapers and oversized shirts Petunia left him in. He liked to be held, slotted himself easy against her hip or leaned on James’ shoulder, observing the world from the safety of their arms. He still wasn’t speaking much, and Lily wanted to take him to a doctor for a full assessment, but the fact that he smiled back at her felt, for the moment, like the world’s greatest victory.

“Shall we find your Daddy?” She asked, rubbing their noses together. Harry laughed when she did, a small noise she had missed so much it ached in her ribs. 

They set off walking, peeking into the vast kitchens, the dining room, the study and the sitting room. They found many sunny nooks of Potter Manor, several smiling portraits, and a hidden passageway that smelled like cotton candy, but it wasn’t until Lily glanced through a window that she saw James. 

He was outside in the garden, sitting on a bench staring intently at some violas. His hair was tousled almost perfectly, a trait she had found infuriating as a girl and attractive as a woman. James Potter was ridiculous and outrageous and loud, but he was also loyal and caring and strangely soft, soft enough to cry when they first heard the prophecy, strong enough to drag himself back from death to defy it. She could tell that he was stressed from the back of his neck, the way his shoulders were hunched. She looked around the room—another sitting room, like Potter Manor grew them, like it was always expecting friends—and gave up finding a door, instead unlatching the nearest window.

Harry watched her work, and when the window swung open he waved his small hand and called “Daddy!”

James spun around on the bench, and whatever stress had been on his face before was replaced with a wide grin. 

Lily looked down at Harry with delight. “That’s right! That’s Daddy!”

James leapt off the bench and came to the window, climbing over a fern to get there, dirtying the knees of his pants as he did, unfailingly, with every pants he owned. “What do you know. It’s my two favorite people.”

“I don’t see Sirius anywhere,” Lily said dryly.

“Well don’t tell him I said this, but sometimes I outright prefer you.”

“I don’t believe you, but I love you for saying it,” Lily sighed. She smiled at him, at his stupid black hair and hazel eyes and crooked glasses. She would never not love him. “Our son knows who you are.”

“That’s because he’s brilliant. You’re brilliant, aren’t you, Harry?” James reached through the window to squeeze Harry’s calf, jiggling him gently. “Aren’t you just the smartest boy who ever was?”

“Daddy,” Harry replied shyly, pleased with the attention. 

James lifted Harry from Lily’s arms and pulled him through the window, tossing him up into him the fresh, clean morning air. Harry laughed, grabbing at James’ shirt. He was a brave boy, and he was brave in this too: he trusted them, even when he had very little reason to trust any adult. Instinctively he seemed to know that James would always catch him, that Lily would always be there when he was sick, and even after a few days the terror of life with the Dursley’s was being replaced. One day he would face Voldemort and die for it and he already was beginning to see, two months short of his second birthday, that they would be there with him, until the very end.

Harry screamed in delight, the loudest noise he had made in months, flailing his small arms and legs as James caught him. “Maybe you should take him flying,” Lily said as she climbed out the window to join them.

“You always forbade flying before!”

“He was a newborn with a soft spot on his head. He’s a toddler now. Toddlers bounce.”

“I wouldn’t have dropped him,” James insisted, and then looked down at Harry. “I won’t ever drop you. Uncle Padfoot might. Better Beater than a Seeker, you know.”

Lily soothed her hand over James’ shoulder blades. “What’s got you so tense?” She asked, working her fingers into the muscles of his back. 

The ease drained from James’ face, replaced by a grim determination. “The horcruxes,” He said, covering Harry’s ears as if he would understand. “We’ve got to get started.”

“Well then, let’s start.”

“But starting means drawing attention.”

“I think we did that when you sprung Sirius from Azkaban.”

“You-Know-Who will know.”

Lily nodded, looking out across the green lawns of Potter Manor. It was shaping up to be such a bright day, beautiful and sunny, a proper summer day that promised no rain. The morning she died had been crisp and lovely. It seemed death was too terrible to occur in a place so wonderful as life, but it did, and without any warning. The sun would not save her from what was coming.

“I suppose it’s time we rallied the troops, then.” She said, sweeping Harry’s hair back from his eyes to reveal the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. “Looks like it’s time to face Albus.”

  
  
  


Regulus was having a bit of a crisis, and his brother was too busy having sex to help.

He knew Sirius was having sex because he walked upstairs to  _ talk _ to Sirius, which was altogether braver than anyone gave him credit for, and right as he went to knock on the door he heard a breathy moan that he recognized, unfortunately, as his elder brother experiencing something he quite enjoyed, followed by–and this was dreadful, really–Lupin groaning “ _ Fuck, fuck, you feel so–“ _ and Regulus only didn’t hear the end of the sentence because he cast a silencing charm fast enough to stop himself from dying all over again, from misery and embarrassment this time. He would’ve preferred a second round with the Inferni.

The problem was Regulus was having a tangle of thoughts too overwhelming to sort out. Things like: was it wrong to change children into portraits as punishment? Did being locked in a closet count as some kind of abuse instead of the personality shaping he always thought of it as? Was the sick feeling that had always lived in his stomach related to all this?

Regulus had known that the things his parents did  _ hurt _ , and he had known that being hurt was theoretically bad, but what he hadn’t known was that anyone would ever actually care that it hurt, that anyone would believe that him being hurt was wrong.

He balled his fists and paced the hallway. He was distressed enough that he considered barging in on his brother and Lupin, but the thought of seeing them naked made him feel like he might throw up. It wasn’t that they were gay; it was that Sirius would never let it go. He couldn’t bear the jokes. 

He lifted the silencing charm for just a moment to see if they were done, but it only took a split second of what he could only describe as  _ noise _ before he put it back up and fled the hallway for good measure.  _ Merlin _ .

He bit his finger irritably. He couldn’t talk to Lily about this, and James would be worse. He was left with one option, and it involved his least favorite activity: apologizing.

  
  


“Hello, I’m back from the dead and I know you were disowned but Sirius is being a hedonist and I have questions and Narcissa isn’t—“

“Regulus,” Andromeda said firmly, stopped him midsentence. She was wearing a silk bath robe, her long hair loose and curling around her face. It was seven in the morning. She had never been a morning person. “Come in.”

Regulus stepped through the door in a little shock that it hadn’t slammed in his face. Andromeda was his kindest cousin, but it didn’t take much to beat Narcissa, and Bellatrix wasn’t even in the running. They hadn’t seen each other in years, and from the looks of it, his knock had roused her from sleep. Still, he stepped into a dark front room and smoothed his robes.

He had never been in Andromeda’s house before, and his first thought was that it was very small, and his second thought was that it was very cheerful. It felt like the Hufflepuff Common Room. There were plants everywhere, and a plush sofa, and bookshelves full of books. There was not a spot of finery, but there were many soft places to sit. Regulus had spent weeks at Malfoy Manor and the Lestrange family home, and he knew that Andromeda’s was the only small home, and the only warm one.

“Coffee?” She asked, gesturing at a worn sofa littered with pillows and throw blankets.

“You never drank coffee before,” he said, sitting and watching a mug fly from the kitchen towards her outstretched hand. Walburga used to say that wandless magic was the sign of a true Black, so connected to the ether that they didn’t need a wand to channel it. Andromeda might’ve been disowned, but the talent had never left her.

“I wasn’t allowed. Blacks are English, if you hadn’t heard, so they drink tea.”

“And Tonkses?”

“Tonkses drink whatever they please,” Andromeda said, sitting in a plump armchair with her legs tucked beneath her. “And no one tells them otherwise.”

Regulus stared down at his mug, feeling something uncomfortably close to guilt in his stomach. The last time he had seen Andromeda—

“I’m sorry I called you those things,” he said awkwardly, his cheeks hot. “And–and I’m sorry I spit on you.”

Andromeda was quiet, taking a slow sip of her coffee. The room around them was still, soft sunlight peeking in through the windows. “You were a child,” she said eventually.

“I shouldn’t have–“

“Walburga had her claws in you. But I knew you’d get away.” She shrugged, a dismissal of his cruelty, more kindness than he thought he deserved. “Besides, I’ll bet Sirius already walloped you for it.”

“He broke my broom,” Regulus admitted. “I mean, I got another and he got–well, Mother–“ He frowned again, the sick feeling back. “Do you ever hurt your daughter?” He asked.

Andromeda set her mug down and folded her hands in her lap. When she spoke, it was with a quiet, intense tone he recognized from his childhood, when she was telling him and Sirius something she wanted them to remember, like  _ never be alone with Bellatrix _ or  _ if you go through my trunk again I will remind you how middle children survive.  _ “I will destroy anyone who harms that child, myself included,” she said.

“But when she disobeys you.“

“I recognize that she is a child, and children are monsters, and I have her take a nap until she’s feeling more reasonable.”

“But let’s say–“

“Regulus,” she said sharply, enough to cut him off. “You’re asking me what circumstance could lead me to lock her in a closet, or curse her, or use a Body Bind to leave her paralyzed for hours, or make her a portrait, or tell her that I hate her or she’s a disgrace, or any number of those awful things they did to us, and the answer is nothing. Nothing. She could murder the Minister for Magic and I would hide his corpse. Loving your child is a choice, and you don’t get to change your mind when they displease you.”

“Isn’t helping them be better love?” Regulus asked weakly.

“Did it feel loving?”

He closed his eyes. It felt—well, he couldn’t tell quite how it felt anymore, because he had been numb then, numb enough to stop himself from crying when he was cursed or left in the dark or —“We had to be strong,” he said softly. “We’re Blacks.”

“ _ Please _ do not tell me you still believe that drivel. Who cares if we’re Blacks, if we’re descended from Merlin himself? Look at Bellatrix. Is that what you want?”

“Bellatrix has some of the strongest magic I’ve ever seen.”

“Bellatrix is  _ mad _ . She tortured innocent people for fun. Is that who you’d like to be?”

He didn’t. He didn’t want to be anything like Bellatrix, or Walburga, or Orion. If he was honest, all he wanted was to be free. He wanted a quiet place where he could breathe. He wanted to stop feeling their gaze on his skin. 

The living room had been silent, but a noise began now: the ticking of a clock, which hadn’t been there before. Regulus thought he might’ve overlooked it before, but the look of fear and rage on Andromeda’s face said otherwise: it was a new noise, and it was a warning.

She moved fast, the coffee spilling onto the thick rug by her feet. “Ted!” She screamed, and before Regulus could ask what was happening she was on her feet, rushing down the hallway. Regulus heard her voice, low and firm, and a smaller voice, a little girl’s. 

“Andromeda?” Regulus called uncertainly, righting the coffee cup.

Andromeda reappeared in the hallway with a girl, her hair a shock of yellow and purple, wrapped up in a blanket and clearly having just woken up. “Get out your wand, Regulus,” she commanded.

“Who are you?” The girl asked sleepily, rubbing at her eyes.

Another door opened and Ted stumbled out, his wand drawn, still in his pajamas. He pulled the girl to himself. “It’s alright, Dora,” he said, smoothing her hair down with one hand. “We’re going to be brave now.”

“What’s happening?” Regulus demanded.

“Who  _ is _ he?” The girl asked, not at all afraid but very curious.

“Take her, Ted,” Andromeda commanded as the fireplace sprang to life. 

“I’m not leaving you, Meda,” Ted said with a shake of his head. “We’re a family.”

“ _ Take her _ !” Andromeda shouted, and Regulus shivered. She sounded almost like Bellatrix.

“Mummy! Don’t shout!” The girl scolded.

“I’m coming right back for you,” Ted said, gathering the girl into his arms. “Come on, Dora. It’s just like we talked about. Keep your brave heart up, yes?”

He was nearly to the fireplace when there was a noise at the door, something between knocking and cracking, and then it was open, daylight and Bellatrix Lestrange spilling into the room.


	13. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion between cousins. James and Lily make a trip.

“Hello little sister,” Bellatrix crooned, the early morning light streaming in around her. She was thinner than when Regulus saw her last, her skin tinged grey, but her eyes were wild and burning with the same hatred and rage that had been there since they were children. 

Andromeda stood very still, her sister’s mirror, wand clutched in her left hand and Bellatrix’s right. Her back was very straight. She breathed slow and calm, the way she always did when she was afraid. “Bellatrix,” she said evenly. 

“And tiny baby Regulus!” Bellatrix laughed, her eyes roving over him like he was a bit of prey. She looked past him to where Ted held Nymphadora. “Mudblood,” she said almost pleasantly by way of greeting to Ted. “And is this my niece?”

“She is nothing to you,” Andromeda said, the barest hint of strain in her voice.

“Oh, Andy,” Bellatrix laughed, high and shrill and unpleasant. “Everything of yours is something to me. We’re  _ sisters _ .”

She lunged forward towards the girl. Regulus drew his wand, knowing he couldn’t beat Bellatrix at a duel, but that this new life required he at least try. But Andromeda moved faster, slamming her shoulder hard into Bellatrix’s side, knocking her to the ground. She landed on top of her sister, grappling for her wand.

They were a blur of movement and magic on the ground, wild curly hair and love that had gone wrong. Bellatrix let out a shriek, raking her fingernails hard across Andromeda’s face, and Andromeda reared back, shouting in pain. Ted shouted “Expelliarmus!” into the blur, and Bellatrix’s wand went flying.

“ _ Bellatrix _ ,” a high, cold voice said sharply. Walburga stood in the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her. Narcissa stood beside her, surveying the scene with a blank face. Regulus felt small, and tired, and sick, and wished suddenly that he was as brave as everyone else was, because faced with his mother, he could barely open his mouth.

Bellatrix climbed to her feet, panting hard and wiping blood from her mouth. She was laughing. “Just saying hello,” she said dreamily.

Ted pulled Andromeda up with his free hand, still holding Nymphadora, who was watching the violence with wide eyes. Andromeda’s face was bleeding, three lines across it. “You were not invited into our home,” Ted said firmly, unafraid. “Leave.”

“Don’t speak to me, mudblood,” Walburga spat. “Or I will have Bellatrix cut your tongue out of your mouth.”

Andromeda tensed, her eyes dark. She wasn’t the best dueler in the family, and she couldn’t hope to defeat the three women by herself, but Regulus thought she might try it if they called Ted a mudblood again.

Bellatrix laughed again. “Oh Andy, don’t look so put out. You can find any number of muggles to fuck if you lose this one.”

There was a noise like thunder, and then Bellatrix dropped to her knees, screaming out in pain. Narcissa flinched. Andromeda stepped in front of Ted and her daughter. “Get out of my house,” she said in a soft and dangerous tone.

“I will be glad to leave this hovel,” Walburga said with just enough of a sneer. She turned her eyes to Regulus for the first time in a sick imitation of a smile. “I only came to find my heir.”

  
  
  


James’ stomach hurt. He knew Sirius would guard Harry with his life, but walking out of the Manor without Harry in their arms still made him feel ill. He glanced at Lily, saw the way she wrung her hands, and knew she felt the same.

“They’re good godparents,” James said hopefully.

“The very best,” Lily responded, sounding sick.

“Harry will be okay.”

Lily stopped walking and instead looked down at the ground. “I can’t,” she said finally. “He will, but–“

James spun around and began walking purposefully back towards the Manor. He trusted his friends, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand the thought, the  _ what if _ . What if Harry got hurt? What if Harry got attacked? What if Voldemort came, if Death Eaters, if—

He came to a stop in the entrance to the parlour. Remus was steadying Harry, his hands gentle on Harry’s shoulders. “Careful, Prongslet,” he said as Harry climbed gleefully up Padfoot’s side. “You can’t fall off your steed.”

The dog, the boy, and the werewolf all noticed James at once and turned with similar expressions of being caught. Remus’ mouth fell open.

“Sirius thought–“ Remus began.

“Daddy!” Harry called.

“Do  _ not _ blame me,” Sirius cried indignantly, transforming into a human and catching Harry in his arms in one smooth motion. 

“It  _ was _ your idea!” Remus said sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“We just had the best sex of our  _ lives _ and you betray me like this?” 

“Don’t say the S word in front of Harry!” Remus hissed.

James felt Lily’s fingers link through his, and when he turned she was smiling. “They’re good godparents,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  
  
  
  


They apparated to Hogsmeade, the very edges. It was close enough walk to Hogwarts, a walk they had made many times, but far enough from the heart of the town to not be seen. It was summer holidays, so the town was quieter, but even still it was faintly buzzing, magic and gossip resonating in the air. Lily had done quick magic to disguise them, a glamour that wouldn’t last long but would get them to the front doors of the school. There may have been easier ways to get to Hogwarts, but after days in the Manor, it felt good to stretch their legs. And in some ways, both of them wanted to wait.

James had loved Dumbledore like a second father. Albus was the one who brought Remus to Hogwarts, who founded the Order, who told him they would all fight to keep Harry safe when the Prophecy came. Albus was brave, and kind, and gave a toast at their wedding. Albus had done everything to protect them.

Albus had left his son in a cupboard.

Beside him, Lily watched the world with a steely eyed intensity. Lily was better at this; she had cut people off before. Not that it was easy, he knew, from the way she still hurt for Severus, even after dying. But she had limits, and when she reached them, there was no return. A door closed. It stayed that way,

James had never reached his limit before. He was discovering a new sort of people, like Peter and Albus; people he had loved who had hurt him so badly there was never any undoing it, no matter what they did. It was a funny feeling, his chest burning with anger but a lump in his throat, too, like he might cry. He would miss them both. But they could never come back.

Lily squeezed his hand like she knew what he was thinking. “I’m here,” she said gently. Lily never minded when he was soft. She never made fun of him. She only held his hand and stayed with him. 

“Remember that toast he gave?” James asked, his voice thick. They were past the village now, the voices on the streets fading behind them, and the air around them was prickling with summer heat.

“Mm. And he wore those bright purple dress robes.”

James nodded, lapsing into silence, the world full of their footsteps and birdsong. After a moment, Lily spoke. “He came to visit me. To tell me I was a witch. I was just turned eleven, and I thought he was some kind of angel. I always thought so.” She took a steadying breath and squeezed his hand again. “The War changed a lot of people. And people change all by themselves.”

“He left Harry there,” James said, his voice finally cracking. “He left him there, Lily.”

She looked at him, her eyes soft behind the glamour, and kissed him softly. “Yes,” she whispered. “But we came back.”

  
  
  


Regulus tried to look at Walburga, but his gaze skidded off of her. He took in the side of her face, her folded hands, her clean robes. He felt sick, and small, and somewhere around ten years old. He settled for glancing at Bellatrix and Narcissa. Narcissa hadn’t changed; she looked trapped and disinterested and studiously uninvolved. Bellatrix looked like she would eat him alive.

“Hello,” he said.

“You didn’t answer my summons, dear child. I thought something might be  _ wrong _ ,” Walburga smiled an all-wrong smile, a smile that came before she broke a bone.

“Wrong like you’re hanging with  _ filth _ and blood traitors,” Bellatrix snarled. “Wrong like you’ve forgotten whose Mark you wear, who you belong to.”

“Now, now, Bellatrix,” Walburga said, and her voice was almost warm. Almost. “Regulus has ever been an obedient son and hero of our cause. Surely he has a good explanation for where he has been and the rumors that are circulating about the company he keeps. Don’t you, Regulus?”

She looked at him expectantly. He knew this game. If he answered right, he got a pass. He got to keep going. He got to not hurt. If he answered wrong…

“I’ve been seeing my brother,” Regulus said flatly, with unexpected anger in his voice. That was a bad sign. Sirius was the one who sounded angry when he spoke. Regulus always sounded calm, or smug, or haughty. Never angry. Never hurt.

Walburga pursed her lips. “ _ You _ do not  _ have _ a brother,” she said lightly. “A fact you may have forgotten.”

Regulus watched Bellatrix’s fingers clench around her wand. He remembered vividly watching Bellatrix curse Sirius. He had been nine years old, and Sirius was his hero. They were at their aunt and uncle’s family home. Sirius vomited slugs for hours, crying in frustration and helplessness. He could barely breathe through it. Walburga yelled at him for the mess, for not being able to reverse the curse himself.  _ Be a Black _ , she hissed, and left him in a guest room with slugs still trickling from his lips. Andromeda had been the one to end it, and bring him a cup of honey tea to soothe his ravaged throat. The whole time Regulus sat by him, helpless and wandless and scared he’d be cursed too. The whole time Regulus had sat by, and listened to Bellatrix’s laughter downstairs, and his mother ignore her eldest son’s crying. 

He hated them.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said, sagging his shoulders. “I came back disoriented, and Sirius… he  _ tricked _ me.” He made his voice high and a little whiny. Walburga liked him more when he sounded like a child, pliant and easy to mold.

“You didn’t answer my summons,” she repeated. “Instead scum came into the home of my fathers and yours to steal your father’s wand.”

“He kept me from you.” Regulus insisted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Andromeda’s face contort in anger. “He only let me here to see her because he knows what she’s like. Trying to brainwash me with his filthy mudbloods and-and- _ queer _ folk.” He spat the words. They tasted familiar in his mouth. “You know how he is. Running around with all sorts.”

Walburga looked at him appraisingly. He tried to radiate the white hot hate he knew she was searching for. Just enough hatred to be accepted as her son again.

“I expect he’s done his damage,” she said with a sneer. “But it’s nothing I can’t fix. Come along, Regulus. We will return home.”

He moved towards her immediately, obediently, just how she preferred him. She smiled a little at that. He was a good puppet. A better puppet than a person.

He stopped just next to her and turned to look at Ted and Andromeda. “Maybe we should send him a message,” he said, glancing at Bellatrix. “Show him what he gets for interfering with the family.”

“Regulus,” Andromeda said desperately.

Bellatrix looked over his head at Walburga and smiled brightly, like a girl granted a new doll. At some sign from her aunt she lifted her wand to strike. With one sharp breath, Regulus stunned her. 

He spun, kicking out at Walburga’s legs to knock her off balance. She fell with a cry. It was dirty fighting, muggle fighting, but he had learned it from Sirius and she didn’t see it coming. By the time she was on the ground he had backed away, his wand outstretched. He knew she was disarmed, and he knew it didn’t matter. Walburga didn’t need a wand to hurt him.

But by then it was over; Andromeda had her wand and years of rage simmering inside her, compounded by the threat to her family. By the time Regulus had straightened up both women were bound and gagged, their wands on the ground. “Stupefy,” Andromeda spat, and Walburga’s head lolled back on the carpet.

Narcissa stood still, eyeing Andromeda speculatively, her wand pointed at the ground. She had always been willowy, but now she was curvier, softer from carrying a child.

“How did Bellatrix get out?” Andromeda demanded. 

“Aunt Walburga visited the Minister,” Narcissa said. “If Sirius was to be freed, then certainly Bellatrix was deserving of similar freedom.”

“Except Bellatrix actually committed a crime,” Andromeda snapped.

Narcissa shrugged. “The Minister couldn’t hear that argument over the sound of galleons hitting her desk.”

“She  _ tortured _ them, Narcissa. They were innocent and she—“

“Spare me,” Narcissa said, holding up one hand. “I’m here out of family duty. Just because you two have shucked it to the wind doesn’t mean the rest of us have such luxury. 

Andromeda clenched her fists, then laughed bitterly and shook her head. “Right. I forgot. You don’t care about what’s right anymore.”

“It’s not so black and white,” Narcissa said, and for a moment she sounded tired.

“It is,” Andromeda said. “You’re just not a good enough person to stand up for it.”

“We should go before they wake up,” Regulus said diplomatically. He understood better than anyone how long this fight could take. 

“Stun me before you go,” Narcissa ordered, lowering herself to the floor to avoid the pain of falling. 

“So they don’t know you’re a coward who doesn’t even fight for the cause you pretend to follow?” Andromeda asked.

Narcissa yawned. It was forced, but it worked; Andromeda looked infuriated. Beneath her calm and her pose, she was just another girl whose little sister wouldn’t listen to her. She looked like Sirius, and Narcissa, on the floor— “No, Andy. So I can’t follow you,” she drawled, and Regulus pretended he couldn’t recognize himself egging Sirius on for having the audacity to care. 

Regulus moved in front of Andromeda; her stun would be unnecessarily painful. He stood over Narcissa, looking down at the cousin he thought made the most sense. Before he died, he spent nearly all his free time at Malfoy Manor. It wasn’t a happy time, but that had been the happiest place then, watching Narcissa grow with pregnancy among the peacocks. It had been quiet there, some evenings, and close to something like peace. Quietly, so that Andromeda and Ted couldn’t hear, he murmured “Be well, Cissa. And say hello to my godson for me.” 

He stunned her before she could respond.


	14. Defiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Potters confront Dumbledore. Harry learns new things. Nymphadora does too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not dead! This one just took me a long time. Thanks for sticking with me. I hope it brightens your day.

James hadn’t drawn his wand on Dumbledore yet, but there was still plenty of time left in the day. 

What he wanted, what he needed to know, was  _ why. _ Why the castle, with its expansive grounds and million hidden rooms and ancient protections stronger than just about anything in the wizarding world, why  _ that _ hadn’t been Harry’s home. Why his son had been locked in a cupboard. Why, as soon as James wasn’t there, all the people he loved were thrown to the wolves.

But Albus spoke in circles on the best of days. And faced with two Potters staring daggers at him, he seemed more inclined to wax philosophical about the needs of communities and right and wrong and how no one knew the ripples they made.

It was, surprisingly, Lily who broke first, her hand slamming down on the solid wood of Dumbledore’s desk. “Cut the shit, Albus,” she said. “Just say it. Say keeping him at Petunia’s was easier. Say you didn’t want to fight anymore. Say you needed a break from the war, to raise a new generation of fighters. Say you were just too tired to protect our son.”

Dumbledore stopped mid sentence, his mouth open. “Lily, is that what you think of me?” He asked softly.

Before she died, Lily might’ve backed down from that. But she was harder now. “You are the most powerful wizard in England and you did not protect my son from two muggles,” she said. “You has a thousand options, Albus, and the one you picked was unforgivable.”

“The blood magic—“ Dumbledore began again.

“Is not a good enough excuse,” Lily finished. She shook her head, turning back to James. “This is pointless. We were wrong about him. We can mourn that at home with Harry. Let’s go.”

“Please,” Dumbledore said, and his voice was strained. “We must discuss Harry’s future.”

James laughed bitterly. He sounded like Sirius. “You mean his ceremonial death once he’s old enough to walk on his own?”

“To stop Voldemort—“

“We gave our lives so Harry wouldn’t have to,” Lily said, standing. “We’ll find another way.”

  
  
  


Harry was finding many, many new delights in the world.

He liked his mummy. He had never had a mum before, at least as far as he remembered. Dudley had one, but he didn’t, which seemed par for the course. But now he had one of his very own, and her voice was nice, and she was always doing gentle touches on him, rubbing his back or stroking his hair. She sang, too, little songs in his ear when his tummy hurt or he was tired. She didn’t even yell. He kept waiting for her to yell, and he would wait a long time, but she never did. 

He also liked the one named Daddy. Daddy had very strong arms but didn’t use them for hitting. He held Harry a lot, but always put him down when he asked. And he was always, always good for a surprise; Daddy had showed him more wonders in the last few days than Harry had ever seen.

He liked Moony, because Moony has big ouches like him, and he liked not being the only one with ouches. He was always the only one, before.

He liked ‘Lulus, even though his name was hard to say. ‘Lulus didn’t smile a lot, but if no one was looking, he would make sparkles for Harry, silver ones that floated and burst. 

He liked Padfoot best of all because Padfoot was a dog and a person and both of them liked Harry. Padfoot the person tickled something in Harry’s brain, some old familiar thing, and that was nice in a world so very new. Padfoot the dog licked his face and let him ride on his big, shaggy back while Moony helped him keep balance. It felt like flying.

“Again! Again!” Harry laughed as Moony picked him up and set him on his feet. He wobbled for a moment and then caught his balance. Walking was hard, but he was learning. He was a fast learner.

Padfoot the dog became Padfoot the person, who grinned at him all big and happy. “You’re just like your dad. Zest for adventure.”

“Do you think we should feed him? They’ve been gone a few hours,” Moony said. Harry wanted to frown because he didn’t want to eat, he wanted a ride, but frowning was dangerous because it might make people mad. He did not think any of this consciously. He just knew better.

“You hungry, buddy?” Padfoot the person asked.

Harry didn’t know how to answer the question, so he didn’t. Instead he wrapped his fingers around Padfoot the person’s finger and made a little humming noise, like his mummy made. He wished she was there. She helped him do a lot of things. 

“I’m not fluent in toddler,” Padfoot the person said. “But that looks like a maybe.”

“Maybe some sandwiches?” Moony suggested. His voice was nice, Harry thought. It sounded like rain. Rain was nice. 

“Again?” Harry asked, and this was new, too: the ability to talk and not be ignored, or worse. Before, Dudley got all the plays and all the fun, and Harry got the dark and the frowns. Now he got plays too! All the time!

“Sure, buddy,” Padfoot the person said, and lifted him up high in the air. He sat on Padfoot’s shoulders and was so tall he could see the whole world. “Just as soon as we give you a snack.”

Moony’s rain-song voice kept going, using a lot of words Harry didn’t know, but Harry didn’t mind. He liked to hear the talking. He grabbed two handfuls of Padfoot the person’s hair and watched the world move around him, moving from the big room with the books to the tall room with the food. There was lots of food here, and he was allowed to have so much of it. Sometimes his tummy hurt from the food, and then his mum would rub his tummy and sing him a song, and then he would fall asleep with her all around him, safe safe safe.

“What do you say, buddy?” Padfoot the person asked, swinging Harry down off his shoulders and onto the table. The room was bright and happy. It had a lot of windows, and they looked outside to where it was green and the sun was big. “Want some lunch?”

Harry nodded, because it seemed like it would make Padfoot happy, and it did. Padfoot smiled big at him. Moony started cutting up an apple. Harry  _ loved _ apples. He used to only get the green ones because Dudley didn’t like green ones, but now he could have red or green anytime. He smiled down at the apple slices Moony put in front of him. 

After a few minutes, Moony and Padfoot sat in chairs near Harry, offering him funny foods. There were apples (very good), yellow cheese (good), white cheese (less good), and raisins (not good at  _ all _ .) Harry pushed the last one away, shaking his head and wrinkling up his face. “No no no,” he said. “That’s bad!”

For a moment he thought they might yell at him. Aunt ‘Tunia yelled whenever he said no. And if he didn’t eat what she made, he didn’t get to eat anything, sometimes all day. But Padfoot burst into big laughs and Moony snorted and nobody yelled at Harry, not even a little, not all afternoon.

  
  
  


Andromeda had a fucking migraine.

She could feel it edging into her vision, the sunlight more of an attack than an illumination. She trudged along behind Regulus and refused to acknowledge the pain growing in her skull. Beside her, Ted walked hand in hand with Nymphadora, who was asking him as many questions as she possibly could.

“But  _ why _ did they want to hurt us?” Nymphadora asked. The girl was nearly nine and was so thoroughly a Tonks that she had once cried over all the worms washed up from the rain. Eventually Andromeda broke and helped her save them, plucking them up from the puddles and dropping them in a bucket of dirt that Dora kept in her room until the weather abated. Andromeda could not possibly understand her child, and she considered this a victory, because it meant Nymphadora was nothing that made sense in the House of Black, and this was Andromeda’s highest hope for her.

“Because they’re bullies,” Ted explained patiently. “They think they can tell everyone what to do.” Even through the migraine Andromeda loved the sound of his voice. If she turned her head she would see his broad shoulders and scruffy face, the short beard he was attempting to grow.

“They can’t tell us what to do!” Nymphadora said, aghast. “That’s not nice!”

“It isn’t,” Ted agreed. “They aren’t very nice people.”

“That’s actually the family motto,” Regulus said dryly, two steps ahead of them, his shoulders bent like he was carrying something heavy. “The  _ tojours pur  _ bit is just for the public.”

“What’s  _ tojours pur _ ?” Dora asked. Andromeda felt the migraine worsen. Her daughter should not be saying those words.

“It means always pure, and it’s utter nonsense,” Andromeda said shortly. “Forget it at once.”

“Mum, I can’t just  _ forget _ it,” Dora said patiently, factually. She was a very small Ted. Sometimes Andromeda wanted to scream. “It’s in my  _ head _ .”

“Your mum means it’s not important, because it’s what the bullies believe,” Ted explained. Andromeda thought she would’ve died without Ted. Sometimes she sat and had a good laugh that her life had become so utterly centered around one idiot Hufflepuff. If she had known the first time she saw him, she might’ve murdered him.

“It’s just ahead,” Regulus said, interrupting what was sure to be Dora’s next question. They had apparated three times or more, playing a hopscotch around the countryside, making sure no one was following. Andromeda did not particularly want to follow her cousin to Potter Manor, but she wouldn’t mind seeing Sirius, and she needed a moment to breathe and determine her next step. Her home was very likely a pile of rubble, or would be when Walburga and Bellatrix awoke. 

The pain in her head felt like an ice pick now. This headache was familiar, an old friend she hadn’t felt in nearly a year. It had disappeared entirely while Bellatrix was in Azkaban. It was easier, only having to keep tabs on Narcissa and Walburga. Narcissa was mostly harmless now that she had a child, and would only have attacked Andromeda’s family if she had to. Walburga wanted her dead, but she rarely ventured out of Grimmauld Place. But Bellatrix…

“Headache?” Ted asked, smoothing one hand over her lower back. 

Andromeda lowered her fingers from where they were grinding into her temples. She made a small noise of affirmation, and Ted’s hand roamed up to her shoulders, a silent encouragement. “Look, Dora,” he said, “there it is.”

“It’s  _ huuuuge _ !” Dora shouted, bouncing at Ted’s side. Potter Manor  _ was _ huge, sprawling across a green field, stately rose gardens mixed among patches of wildflowers. Dora took off running, still dressed in her pajamas, her hair shifting from green to pink to bright, violent orange as she went. Andromeda winced at the light. Her daughter was running, and her sister could be behind any bush, springing out from the shrubs, her wand extended or that knife she loved, thin red wounds on Dora’s skin—

“Nymphadora!” Andromeda shouted. Dora stopped in her tracks, looking back at her mother in exasperation. 

“It’s alright,” Ted said softly, just loud enough for Andromeda to hear, and then waved at Dora. “Knock first!” He called. 

Dora turned back from them and ran towards the door. Andromeda shivered. 

By the time they got to the door it was open, and Nymphadora was bouncing excitedly around a shaggy black dog. Sirius was out of sight, but Remus was there, a sleeping toddler in his arms. He looked thinner than when Andromeda had last seen him, and there were new wounds over his face, pink and healing, but he was still the same boy her cousin had first brought over for dinner, blushing red when Andromeda looked him over. 

“Where are James and Lily?” Regulus demanded. He looked at the dog when he spoke, frowning slightly, a petulant twist on his face. 

“They’re at Hogwarts,” Remus answered. “Hello everyone.”

“What happened to your face?” Nymphadora asked. “Who is that boy?”

“Dora,” Andromeda said firmly. “Mind yourself.”

“I got attacked by pirates,” Remus answered easily, winking at Nymphadora. “This is Harry.”

“Harry  _ Potter _ ?” Nymphadora gasped. “He fought You-Know-Who!”

“And now he is fighting this nap,” Remus said. He looked up from Dora and smiled at Andromeda and Ted. “This is a nice surprise.”

“A trio of dark witches invaded their home, but yes, it’s certainly nice,” Regulus said irritably.

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but there was a ripple of magic and the dog was gone and Sirius stood between them, scowling at his brother. Andromeda held her breath. If they were different people, she would’ve hugged him, and cried, and told him how worried she had been, how she’d dreamed of him in Azkaban, and woke up crying in Ted’s arms. She would’ve grabbed Regulus and Sirius and held them both and told them over and over that she was desperately glad they made it out, they survived. 

Instead, she made her voice as flat as possible and said “If you two need to fight, do it after I’ve had some of that muggle medicine for my head.”

“Aspirin,” Ted said helpfully. “Good to see you free, Sirius.”

Sirius turned from his brother and grinned at Andromeda, and for a minute he was five, and she was young again, in her parent’s house, and he was racing down the hallway to hug her knees, begging for magic tricks. “Andy! You came to see your favorite black sheep!” He shouted, throwing his arms around her and Ted at once.

Andromeda smiled despite herself, but swallowed it by the time she pushed Sirius away. “I came to get away from that old hag who birthed you. Seeing you is just the price I have to pay.”

Sirius frowned deeply. “Wally came for you?” He glanced back at Regulus, who studiously looked away.

“With two harpies,” Andromeda said, and winced from the pain in her skull. It was like sharp metal bits were grinding through her eye sockets. “Really, do you have any of the muggle nonsense?”

“Please come in,” Remus said, stepping back into the house. “Sirius, take Harry to bed. I’ll ask the elves for some medicine.”

“Their names are Bloxi and Elp,” Regulus said irritably. Andromeda raised an eyebrow at him, at the venom in his voice. 

“Why are you being a shit?” Sirius asked.

“Why didn’t you care that I was missing?” Regulus snapped back.

“I thought you were asleep still. It’s not my fault you left without telling anyone.”

“Well I needed you and you were busy being—being  _ defiled _ by Lupin!” Regulus shouted.

The air grew very still and quiet. Andromeda readied herself for the explosion, the spark of magic before the two boys went wrestling into the dirt. Instead Sirius cracked, looked back at Lupin and burst into a wild and barking laugh. “De-defiled?” He sputtered.

“That is about the sum of it,” Remus mused, chuckling into Harry’s tousled hair.

Regulus’ face was high pink, and Andromeda thought he might storm away, but death had brought miracles because he let out a shaky laugh too, and it dissolved into something loose and pleased, until he was bent over, one hand against the house and his other on his thigh, laughing himself hoarse next to his brother as Sirius wiped tears from his eyes. They looked like boys again, like the war had never touched them, and the world was their own secret joke.

“What’s defiled mean?” Nymphadora asked, looking up at Ted.

Ted rubbed at the back of his neck and grimaced. “It’s, ah, well…”

“We have a dictionary inside,” Remus said, smiling fondly at the brothers and stepping back towards the house. “Please come in.”

  
  



End file.
